Cybertronian Culture and Biology 1-0-Y
by Nicor Warg-Fyrweorm
Summary: "Cybertronian Culture and Biology One-Oh-Why: How to survive learning about alien habits, anatomy and society. Warning: Understand 'survival' as 'to continue to live', not as 'to remain healthy, happy and unaffected in spite of some occurrence'." Or, "how Spike Witwicky learned about Cybertronian and managed to mentally scar them all for life."
1. Creation

When Spike gets out of the VW Beetle, new leather jacket slung over one shoulder and sunglasses covering his eyes, he sees the twins, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, calmly chatting in the _Ark_'s entrance.

"Hey guys!" He salutes, waving his free hand, as he approaches them, Bumblebee going back to root mode. "What are you cooking this fine day?"

"Cooking? What reason would we have to experiment with organic refueling materials?" The golden mech sneers while the red one looks confused.

"It's an expression." The teenager laughs, pushing his sunglasses up when he gets to the shadow cast by the volcano. "It means to plan something, so I was asking if you were planning something." He explains, smiling widely, and the twins plus Bumblebee look at him with curiosity.

"We weren't planning anything. What is that?" Sideswipe answers, pointing at Spike's new leather jacket.

Smiling wide and proudly, the boy shows it to them as they slowly go inside.

"My dad gave it to me as a birthday present. Isn't it awesome? I've been wanting one for years! Shame none of you have a motorcycle alt mode. Now, _that_ would be the best birthday present ever." He daydreams, imagining the never-ending road, only the wind and red desert ground all around him, riding a blue—

"A what present?" Sunstreaker cuts through his thoughts, and the boy frowns a second in confusion before remembering what he was saying.

"Oh. A birthday present. You know, things your friends and family give you for your birthday."

"Humans celebrate the day they were created." Bumblebee adds after some seconds of silence, startling both his fellow Autobots and his human friend.

"You guys don't?" Spike asks, stunned, as they enter the Rec Room.

"Why should we?" Sideswipe shots back nonchalantly, grabbing a couple of Energon cubes from the dispenser as the younger Autobot and the teenager sit down at the closest table, the one almost on the corner, so as to be able to keep talking.

"Why should you?" He repeats, incredulous, as the twins sit in front of them, the red one giving the spare cube to Bumblebee. "But it's the day you were born, the day you started your life! It's the best reason to celebrate, to rejoice for the fact that, if you hadn't been born then, you wouldn't be here now!"

"Humans are weird." Sunstreaker says simply, sipping his Energon, and Spike has to shake his head to focus.

"You mean you _really_ don't celebrate birthdays?"

"Again, why should we? Creating is nothing big." The red twin answers with a shrug, looking at the boy curiously.

"It's nothing… I have the feeling I'm missing something here." He finally manages to say, frowning in confusion as he tries to put things together. "How can creating a new life be… nothing big?"

The twins exchange a look before turning to an amused Bumblebee.

"He doesn't know how creating goes, does he?"

"Of course I do." The teenager scowls, crossing his arms, as he remembers Biology class and that awkward afternoon with his father after he started high school. "When a male Cybertronian loves a female Cybertronian very much—" He starts in a bored voice, but three big robotic beings suddenly leaning towards him cut him short.

"A male and a female _what_?"

"Why do you talk about two individuals?"

"What has love to do with creation?"

Overwhelmed by the voices talking in unison and the questions he manages to catch, Spike harshly gestures for them to quieten.

When they finally do, all four of them have bewildered expressions on their faces.

"What has love to do with creation?" He repeats, and Sideswipe nods, identifying himself as the one who asked. "Huh, well, people don't try to have children unless they really love each other, you know? Married couples with jobs and that kind of things."

"Humans can choose when to have newsparks?" After a second to change 'newsparks' for 'babies' in his mind, and to _truly_ ponder the question, Spike looks up at the red twin.

"Well, kinda. You can, huh, you can get a girl pregnant when you have, huh, when you engage in, ah, a _physical_ relationship with her." He manages to say, blushing madly under the curious and attentive looks of the three Autobots. "But that's why you take, uh, _precautions_."

"Precautions?" All three of them speak in unison, and the teenager reddens more, that uncomfortable afternoon having The Talk with his father coming back to mind.

Steeling himself and recalling what Sparkplug said back then, Spike tries to relax.

"Well, the best way to avoid such a situation would be not to… have sex until you are sure she's the girl of your life and you are ready for a kid." The Autobots don't react. "But if you really want to… there are… condoms." Curiosity fills their optics, so the teenager shuffles a bit in his spot. "To keep the… the sperm out of her…"

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker frown.

"But wouldn't that be like not spark-merging at all?"

"Spark what?"

"I think human creation doesn't work like ours." Bumblebee summarizes at all the dumbstruck looks.

"Obviously not. For Cybertronian, creation happens in a spark-merge when enough energy is available to create a newspark. There are ways to make that more likely, but none to avoid it." Sideswipe explains simply, and it's Spike's turn to frown.

After a couple of seconds of thinking about the issue, he decides he really _doesn't want to know_ about 'robot sex', so he lets his questions stay unanswered.

"Huh." He says simply, and, once the Autobots realize he's not going to say anything else, Sunstreaker pokes him softly with a dactyl.

"Now, why did you say that creation could only happen if a Femme is involved?"

"A what?"

"I think your words were 'male' and 'female'." Bumblebee supplies helpfully, as curious as the twins.

"'Cause that's the way it happens in humans? Don't you have female Cybertronian?" He asks back, genuinely confused.

"We have Femmes, but it's just a frame type. So, what does this have to do with creation?"

"What do you mean, 'just a frame type'?" He repeats, turning all his attention to Sunstreaker in the hope he will explain his words.

"There are many frame types. Bumblebee is a Minibot, Prime is a Cargo, Sides and I are Road Runners, Screamer is a Seeker… and 'Femme' is just another frame type." The golden mech answers simply with a small shrug.

Spike is stunned.

"So, it's just appearances? Alt modes?" The twins shrug with a nod, which is a 'mostly, yeah'. "Does that mean that…" He blanches at the thought, at the impossibility, at the _weirdness_ of it all, but Bumblebee's curious poking makes the rest of the sentence blurt out of his mouth. "… that _any of you_ could carry a child?" His voice is squeaky, but the Autobots just grow more curious.

"Yes, of course." The Beetle answers, and the teenager lets himself fall to lay on the table he's sitting on.

_Any of them could…_

"Seriously?" He croaks, and three voices answer positively. "But that's… that's…"

"Spike? I think you better talk with Ratchet about this, I'm afraid we must be explaining it wrong." Sideswipe cuts in, poking him softly on the side. "Though, one more question, if you're still operative." He hums in agreement, listening half way as he tries to erase images of the twins and Bumblebee sporting tell-tale pregnant bellies. "Does human creation always happen in pairs?"

"Does human… what? What do you mean, 'in pairs'?" He repeats, sitting up, when the question gets through the disturbing imaginings.

"Well, you said that creation happens between two individuals. Does that mean that humans _always_ create a newspark between two of them? You can't create one alone?"

Spike can only think of a starfish growing from the severed arm of another.

"Create one _alone_? Are you nuts?!"

Blank looks.

And then, Sunstreaker turns to his brother.

"I think you've blown his processor. He thinks we are fruits composed of a seed and a hard shell."

"No, no, I meant, are you crazy? Malfunctioning?" At the last one they react with indignant shouts. "Guys, calm down!" Huffing, they do, curiosity quickly taking them once they fall silent. "It's _impossible_ for a human to create alone, not even females can." They nod in acceptance, and it is the teenager's curiosity that grows then. "You _can_?"

"Sure can. Soundwave's Cassettes? They're most likely only his." Bumblebee answers calmly, and Spike feels like the world is tilting.

"Soundwave's… You mean… They are his _children_?" He whispers, a mix between horrified and dumbstruck.

"Of course. A Cassette Carrier is _always_ his Cassettes' creator. Though it doesn't mean there can't be a co-creator. You see, Cassettes—"

But Spike isn't listening anymore, the image of Soundwave—_Soundwave—_with a rounded pregnant belly being almost too much to—

"A co-creator? Like, two creators?" He blurts out, shaking his head to dislodge the image, because _that_ is far more disturbing that thinking about the twins and Bumblebee—_don't think about that!_ "Does that mean Starscream is Laserbeak's other creator?"

Silence.

There's a loud clanging noise from the ventilation shaft, and the four of them jump to their feet in shock.

Slowly, Sunstreaker approaches the vent as Bumblebee pushes Spike behind him.

And then, the golden Autobot opens it, peeks inside—and blurts out laughing.

Stunned, no one moves for a second, before Sideswipe gets next to his brother to see what's so funny—and starts laughing too.

"Guys? What is it?" The teenager asks and, without being able to verbally answer, Sunstreaker takes out whatever is in the vent.

Laserbeak, optics offline, hangs limply from his servo.

Bumblebee falls to the bench amidst peals of laughter.

"What…?"

"He—He _crashed_!" Sideswipe manages to chortle, his engine rumbling noisily with mirth. "He was listening to us and he _crashed_! You short-circuited his processor!"

And then, Spike realizes that what he's just managed is to make Laserbeak faint with his hastily and quickly blurted unprocessed question, most likely from the imagery that popped up.

Not letting it get to him, too, he decides to surrender to the laughter bubbling in his chest instead.

"I wish—I wish I could see their faces when Laserbeak tells them!" He cackles, leaning on the Beetle's leg.

"We can!" The twins shout in unison and, next he knows, he's been scooped up in the servos of a mech rushing through the corridors, a blur of red bouncing in front of him.

Hanging tightly to the dactyls around him, Spike waits until the world has stopped bouncing and he's been left on something solid to open his eyes again.

"Hey, what's—Is that _Laserbeak_?" Cliffjumper, who is on monitor duty, exclaims, looking from the twins to the Cassette still hanging limply from Sunstreaker's servos. "What did you do to him?"

"Spike crashed his processor." Sideswipe sniggers, fiddling with some controls next to where he's left the teenager.

"He _what_? And what are you doing?"

"We're making sure his creators don't worry." The red twin answers with a sharp smirk, looking at the screen—

Black flickers to static for a second before a view of the _Nemesis_' bridge shows up, Megatron sitting on his throne and Soundwave manning the controls.

"What is the meaning of this?" The Decepticon leader growls with flashing optics, studying Sideswipe and, to the teenager's surprise, Spike.

But the twin isn't looking back at the tyrant.

"There you are!" He shouts, optics on the Communications Officer, who, as per usual, doesn't react. "We just wanted to let you know we haven't done anything to him, he was already like that when we found him." He adds with soft snickers, and his brother steps next to him and lifts the immobile Cassette so that the mechs on the other side of the screen can see him.

"Is that Laserbeak?" A shrill voice exclaims, Starscream walking into view between the communications console and the throne.

The twins break down laughing.

Spike, more controlled, almost loses it when he sees the Decepticon's stunned faces and the flash of surprise of their optics.

"What is going on here?" The teenager almost falls on his back as he turns to look at a clearly unamused Prowl on the doorway.

"We—We just wanted to—to let Las—Laserbeak's creators know—he's fine." Sunstreaker manages to say, and, on the other side of the screen, Soundwave and Starscream exchange a look.

Sideswipe, who hasn't taken his optics off of them, ends on the ground with a hiccup of his engine, unable to stay standing when his laughter doubles.

Bumblebee, who has also caught the look, manages to point in the Seeker's general direction before his laughter becomes too much to let him keep his arm steady.

As one, all three Decepticons turn to stare at the wall.

The two yellow Autobots lose it, joining Sideswipe as they fall to their knees, while Cliffjumper takes a careful step away, as if afraid it's catching.

Prowl ignores them and steps up to the screen.

"Are they on High Grade? There's no mech ther—" Starscream's words are cut short as he turns once more to the screen, only to find himself staring straight at Soundwave, who hasn't turned around.

Megatron's mouth falls open, optics a pale orange.

"Prime will contact you with the terms of the return of Laserbeak." The Autobot Second in Command tells the Decepticons calmly, and cuts the transmission.

Just before the screen goes black, Spike catches both Decepticon officers whirling to the screen with almost white flashing optics, even the Communications Officer looking murderous despite his inexpressive face.

His mirth is smothered.

He has the feeling Ratchet is going to have a field trip trying to put the twins and Bumblebee together after the next battle.

"Now, an explanation, please." Prowl's calm voice cuts through his musings, and he turns his attention to where the three laughing Autobots have managed to get back to their knees and regain their speech capabilities, though there are still wide smiles on their faces.

The Cassette, now in Cliffjumper's hold, is still completely out of it.

"We were trying to explain Spike some things about creation, and he ended with the idea that Laserbeak is Soundwave and Starscream's creation." Sideswipe answers, snickering softly, and the red Minobot's jaw falls open in shock.

If the Autobot tactician was human, he would have sighed tiredly.

"Perhaps you should leave the explanations to Ratchet, from now on. Although what Spike suggested is not as unlikely a possibility as you seem to think."

Silence.

And then, the sound of whirling fans fills the room, with the two Minibots turning to stare in astonishment at the frontliners, and Prowl's doorwings straighten almost vertically on his back—

His fans stutter for a second before the tactician's blue eyes turn black and he ends sprawled on the ground.

Spike's question about if they should call the medic is drowned in the horned mechs' cries of despair.

"I did _not_ need those images!"

* * *

**AN:** I'm under siege by plot bunnies, help!

Well, not really 'help', 'cause this one's quite tame in comparison to the others, but _another_? Really?

This story is born because I have my headcanons about _Transformers_ (as everyone else) that I've started writing on paper to put bits as notes in another story... And I found myself thinking, 'hey, what if...?'

Most. Dangerous. Question. Ever.

In this case, it went like: What if humans found about all these facts? How would they learn about them? And what would it mean to the Cybertronian, both Autobots and Decepticons?

So... _Ta-da_!

I'm going to see if I can work out a schedule, but no promises (yet). I'll like to have some more written before posting the next so, if I can, I'll try to put this into an 'updates on weekends' thing, or, if not, expect the next one about a week from now.

Also, warning: This one may be all laughter, but not all facts in life are pretty, so don't expect them all to be like this one (I've got at least another funny one, but I also have a mixed one and a dark-ish one, so you've been warned).


	2. New lives

Sitting on a table in the Repair Bay watching Ratchet deactivate Laserbeak's weapons is not as interesting as it sounds.

In fact, once one has already seen all the alien medical tools adapted for use on beings with a metallic body, the Repair Bay is quite boring.

Even Ratchet's grumbling has grown old by now.

So, Spike lets out a tired sigh, pulls his legs to his chest, wraps his arms around them and rests his chin on his knees.

This has to be some kind of punishment for before, even though Optimus said the boy was innocent of the incident because of his lack of knowledge about the situation.

He entertained himself at first trying to imagine what would befall the twins and Bumblebee—though mostly the frontliners—for their careless communication with the Decepticons and their, as Jazz had put it, _psychological warfare against their own faction_, even though Cliffjumper had been the one shouting, in Cybertronian, of course, loud enough for the whole _Ark_ to hear as they took Prowl and the _still_ knocked out Cassette to Ratchet.

Which is why the Prime, with a loudly growling Ironhide that was a second away from literally shooting the twins, entered the room rather hastily as soon as Ratchet started looking over his patients, the Head of Special Operations calmly following.

Whatever the red Minibot told them, still in the clicking and whirling and overall mechanical noise that was their native language, almost made the Weapons Specialist join the list of 'casualties', but the sound of a smirking Jazz's fans coming online kept him conscious, even if it was just to shout—shriek, shouting in Cybertronian sounds like shrieking, more so at the pitch Ironhide's voice got to—and threaten the black and white mech.

And that was when Ratchet started throwing wrenches.

The Repair Bay emptied rather quickly then.

Spike followed out of self-preservation, and so he witnessed Optimus ordering, with a really disapproving look, the twins and the two Minibots to his office to talk about the situation, and was reassured that it wasn't the boy's fault.

Jazz had just made the comment about psychological warfare when the door to the Repair Bay opened and Ratchet literally picked the teenager up by the scruff of his neck.

Well, by the collar of his shirt.

Spike only had time to yelp in surprise before the medic plopped him in a sitting position on his other servo, to let him be more comfortable but keep the message clear.

_You are staying with me._

After the twins told him that they had been trying to explain the human about creation before the whole Starscream-Soundwave mess, Ratchet shooed the group off, entered the Repair Bay and locked the door.

And Spike was left on a table with an order to '_not touch anything, and I mean _any_thing_' before the medic went back to his job of disarming the Cassette.

So, he is bored.

More so because making sure a bot doesn't have access to their weapons means connecting a cable from Ratchet's arm to a port on the back of Laserbeak's neck and _stay completely still_.

Sure, watching the medic's blue optics dim, like the times he's answering internal comm, and flicker between shades of blue was interesting, as well as trying to decipher all the clicking and whirring mutterings, but that lost it's attractive soon enough.

The only other Cybertronian with them is Prowl, but he's still out of it, lying on his back on one of the metallic beds, doorwings spread to the sides the most the boy has ever seen them.

So, Spike is bored.

With another mournful sigh, he presses his face against his knees, trying not to think about the nice day, and how he'd wanted to go for a ride with Bumblebee, maybe race the twins…

Another sigh leaves his lips before he can stop himself.

"Is there a physical reason why you're ex-venting like that, or is it just to annoy me?" The teenager jumps a bit at the sudden voice, looking up quickly to see Ratchet coiling the cable and looking at him with optics dim in slight irritation.

"I was bored." He answers sheepishly, shrugging, and the medic lets out a huff of air through his vents that makes the boy smirk. "Can you talk now? Because I'm going to start sighing again if you don't."

The ambulance just gives him a deadpanned look in response, putting the cable back in his arm and closing the panel so that it isn't visible anymore.

"Yes, I can talk. I fact, I _need_ to talk to straighten the tangle of data those three put in your processor." Spike blinks in surprise before remembering what he had been talking with the twins and Bumblebee before they found Laserbeak.

He can't help the grimace appearing on his features.

The medic doesn't see it, busy as he is restraining the Cassette to the bed.

"Do we _really_ have to talk about sex? Can't we just leave it with 'things are different between our species'?" He tentatively asks, and Ratchet, who was reaching for some tools, stops, eyes dimming.

There's a cough of the ambulance's engine a second later as the medic grimaces.

"_That_ is human interface? What a _mess_." Metals clank as small armor plates move slightly in what looks like a shiver.

Spike can't decide what's more interesting, the words, or the movement.

In the end, the decision is taken for him as Ratchet grabs a couple of tools and sits in front of the table the teenager is on, carefully extending what looks like a mesh cloth to put the tools on.

"Yes, we need to talk, because I can't have you crashing processors with every couple of words you say." The boy huddles a bit in embarrassment, and the medic softens his tone. "It isn't your fault, and crashing is a pretty extreme reaction, but knowing more about us may be convenient. Even if I can't see how _creation_ will ever be useful to get out of a situation… unless you _purposefully_ twist it to make others fritz." There's a slightly dark smirk on Ratchet's faceplate, and Spike chuckles after a quick glance at Laserbeak.

The memory of Starscream and Soundwave's almost white optics quickly sobers him, though.

The ambulance gives him a curious look before turning his attention to his tools, using a small needle to poke at hard to access areas, dust flecks falling from them.

"Now, how did you manage to draw Starscream as Laserbeak's creator from a talk about creation?"

Blushing seems to have become far too common lately, but Spike can't stop himself.

So, instead, he keeps looking at the cleansing of the tools.

"Well, they said that the Cassettes are Soundwave's children, and that they could have been created by two Cybertronian and… well, Laserbeak flies, and Starscream was the first Decepticon Seeker that came to mind, so…" He leaves it at that with a shrug, and quickly notices that the needle isn't moving anymore.

A look up gives him the answer, for Ratchet is studying the boy with his mouth open in surprise.

"What?"

"You thought Starscream was Laserbeak's creator because they both have aerial capabilities?" The medic retorts with a mix of disbelief and astonishment.

"Huh, yes, I guess." At the confused look, Spike moves to sit Indian style, waving his hands as if that would help the explanation come forth. "Look, I was—I was overwhelmed by a lot of images I _really didn't want to think about_, so I latched onto the first thing I could. Even if it wasn't that much better. So, yes, I thought that Laserbeak's father, or creator, or whatever you call him, had to be someone able to fly, and the first that came to mind was Starscream, so that's the name I said."

"No, no, that's not what I—" The ambulance cuts himself with an annoyed grumble of engines, but calms down before looking back at the teenager. "_This_ is exactly why we need to talk. You've been given erroneous data, and have managed to establish the wrong connections between what little they managed to get right. So, forget whatever those three told you and listen." He pauses for an instant, and Spike nods, back straight.

Perhaps this will be his chance to finally get rid of those disturbing images once and for all.

"Newsparks, the new Cybertronian, can be created in two ways." The tools are left on the cloth as Ratchet lifts his servos as if those options were in his palms. "From another spark or through Vector Sigma."

"Vector Sigma?" The medic stops so completely that not even the tiniest of whirrs comes from his frame.

Then, his optics go black, and Spike worries for a second that he's somehow managed to make the mech crash, but Ratchet just lets out a loud huff as he covers his faceplate with a servo.

"I'll give you the really, really, _really_ short version. If you want the whole one, talk with Prime." The teenager is about to ask what the ambulance is talking about, but Ratchet looks back at him that instant, so he stays quiet. "Long before the first Cybertronian records, a powerful being created robots. He used the strongest materials in the universe, gave them processors more advanced than any civilization had managed to build, and installed the most complex and precise circuitry and sensory arrays in them. And then, he filled them with the richest and most efficient energy source and turned them on."

Feeling like a kid at a storytelling, Spike leans forward.

The medic's optics flash a second with amusement before continuing.

"The robots worked perfectly, and their AI was so advanced that they could have been mistaken for actual living beings. And yet, they clearly weren't. They learned, and could mimic feelings almost to perfection, but it was too obvious for their creator that they weren't more than pieces masterfully put together. So, the powerful being gave them something more. He gave them parts of his life source." The teenager's mouth falls open in surprise, stiffening.

"To all of them?" He asks in a whisper, and Ratchet's amusement stays in his optics this time, as well as the tiny smile on his faceplate.

"To every single one. There weren't a lot, and the being's life force was so powerful that the parts he gave them were nothing more than sparks. He gave them the ability to adapt, and then they traveled so that the robots could learn, and he taught them what he knew. And with each new thing they learned and experienced, the robots' sparks became more their own. So, it came to the point that the powerful being decided to let them go, for them to live their own lives, and so, together, they searched a planet for the robots to settle."

"And they found it." Spike cuts in with a big smile, starting to see where this is going.

"Actually, they didn't."

"What?" The medic's engine rumbles softly in laughter, and the teenager gestures for him to go on.

"The robots had been so carefully created, so specially designed, that no world felt like home to them, now that they were able to feel. Their home, they told their creator, was wandering the universe with him. And so, the being built them a world, as masterfully crafted as his creations had been, a metallic planet that would wander the universe. And _that_ felt like home, but with it came another problem, for the planet was dead. There was no life, no energy, nothing. It could have been nothing more than a gigantic asteroid, and, like one, it would be caught by the first star it approached, and be devoured by it, because there wasn't any energy source strong enough to power a whole planet. So, the creator decided to give it _his own_." The teenager almost falls flat on the table in surprise, so intently was he leaning towards the mech. "His own energy source, as powerful, or even more, than any star, filled the planet and gave it life, made it the home the creator had intended it to be. And, to always be there to help the beings he had given life to, he converted his own body, housing the tiny part of his life force that had remained behind, into a powerful object that he gave to the wisest and most compassionate of his creations, for him to lead the rest. And like this, the new race of mechanical beings with the ability to transform and with a spark powering their frames, got their home, a planet they named Cybertron, thanks to their creator, Primus. Then, things happened, and here we are." The last sentence is bitter and dark, and Spike startles almost as badly as before, but the sadness reflected by those dark azure optics tempers his surprise.

"What about that Vector Something?" He asks softly, and Ratchet's optics turn black for less than a second in a quick reboot, the equivalent of a blink, to center himself.

"Vector Sigma. It's a super computer linked to Cybertron's very core, to Primus' spark, so it can create newsparks by putting a spark in an empty frame." He explains, voice no longer dark, and the teenager feels equal parts happy and curious.

"So you build frames, bring them to that super computer, and it gives them a spark." He summarizes, thinking about how _artificial_ that sounds… but how much better it is than thinking about pregnant robots.

Besides, that's a lot more like what he would expect from a race of mechanical beings.

"In a sense. Now, the other way—" Spike cringes, but, despite seeing his reaction, the medic doesn't stop talking. "—is to create a spark from an already active Cybertronian. And _that_ is what is called creation." The boy frowns in confusion, all his steely resolve to push away unpleasant images crumbling to nothing as he focuses on the words. "Creating happens when enough energy and coding come together, either from only one spark or through the spark-merging of two others, and form a new spark. This is a really common occurrence, since our own sparks have extra replicated coding at all times, and all it takes is a power surge for whatever reason to have a newspark."

"But shouldn't you have lots of babies—I mean, newsparks, then?" He asks, confused and curious, and Ratchet smiles in amusement.

"Creation, Spike. Creation. It's not 'a big deal' because it happens a lot. And because, 93'7855% of the times, it doesn't go further than that." The teenager's features go blank, waiting for further explanation, as he doesn't understand _anything_. "For a newspark to be viable, it needs to have all essential coding in it, but the percentage of it in a mature spark is of 6'2145, and it can be even less depending on the state of replication of non-essential coding. So, most of the times, the newspark is just absorbed by the carrier spark."

Spike freezes, eyes wide in horror.

_It's not 'a big deal' because it happens a lot… The newspark is just absorbed by the carrier spark…_

_It's not 'a big deal'… happens a lot… just absorbed…_

_Not 'a big deal'… a lot… absorbed…_

"And it—those…" He has to gulp twice to sooth the apparent dryness in his throat. "That 'absorbing' only happens with the—the ones that have a problem?"

Spike's stomach churns, and he feels himself paling.

It sounds too much like that doc about the lioness that left all her newborn cubs because one was sick.

"Exactly." Ratchet answers carefully, examining him attentively. "Are you alright?"

"I… it's just that… I didn't know you…" The medic frowns, and Spike shakes his head, not sure if he really wants to find the words to explain. "You kill your kids just because they are sick." The ambulance looks away, pondering it, and the teenager shivers.

"I don't know if I've understood it right but… Spike, non-viable newsparks are like 'eggs'. The ones you humans eat." The boy looks up sharply, looking at the mech. "They _could have been_ chickens. Or ducks, or whatever. But they aren't. So, even if you left one of those eggs with its creator, there would be nothing coming out of it."

It clicks loudly in place in his head, and the whole picture rearranges itself.

Non-viable newsparks aren't like deaf or blind babies, they're like unfertilized eggs.

Lifeless from the very start.

The teenager smiles in relief.

"So, you don't just 'absorb' a newspark because it has a tiny defect. I thought… for a second I'd thought… I thought you guys did that too with ones that were, you know. Like, born blind, or deaf…" The medic's face goes blank, and Spike's eyes widen. "Ratchet?"

"If it has all essential coding intact, a newspark is viable." He simply repeats, and the boy pales.

"So you do…"

"Let me explain something." He has to physically shake himself before finding enough strength to nod. "You know I can repair almost everything, right? Even reattach limbs, or replace parts." The teenager nods again, still not over his shock, but more curious. "Well, there are things that just can't be repaired, least of all replaced, because they are so attuned to the spark that they are the only pieces that would ever be compatible with it. Any others, any changes, and either they will malfunction or the spark will give out, if the change is too big." Ratchet's solemn gaze doesn't look away from him, and Spike finds himself completely lost in those blue beacons. "_Those_ are the parts regulated by essential coding. So yes, some of those malfunctions you've just described, and some others I know humans suffer, are reasons for a newspark's absorption, because they are caused by mistakes or lack of essential coding. Our own sparks recognize it, so they absorb the newspark. And the bot isn't aware of the newspark until the absorption is over."

Just when he began to feel better, to understand, Ratchet's words make it worse again.

"You don't realize you had a kid until it's dead?" He squeaks, not as shocked as before now that he knows the reasons behind the absorption, but still stunned.

"No, we don't. It takes two orns, about 16'6 of your days, for the carrier spark to completely analyze a newspark. This is known as trial time, with the confirmation of its viability marking the beginning of the development period, during which the newspark will strengthen for when it is transferred to the Newspark Protoform, its frame."

"So that is when they are really born?" Ratchet nods, looking satisfied that he's finally cleared that. "Do you… have you…" The medic gestures for him to go on and, feeling like the rudest guy in the planet, he pushes out his question. "Have you ever created?"

_That… sounds awkward._

But the ambulance just gives him an amused smile at his 'I think I've eaten a bug' look, and nods.

"Yes, many times. But I've never had a successfully developed newspark, if that's what you wanted to ask next." He answers easily, not looking uncomfortable at all, or sad, or anything, and Spike realizes, just then, that it _really_ is normal, and not that big of a deal.

They _really_ are a different species.

"Ratchet?" He calls after a couple of minutes of calm, in which he finally takes in everything, a list of questions slowly developing.

The medic doesn't look away from the tools he's gone back to cleaning, but nods as an indication for him to ask away.

"Prowl said that Laserbeak may really be Soundwave and Starscream's creation, but you said that being fliers may not be proof of it. So, why did he say that?"

"Because it would be a tactical advantage." The medic's mouth is open, but the voice is not his.

When they look at the beds, they find Prowl calmly sitting up, as composed as always.

Though, the way his doorwings are twitching on his back kind of break that usual seriousness.

They look too much like a bunny's twitching whiskers, to be fair.

But, the answer is more interesting than the now settling doorwings.

"A tactical advantage?" The boy repeats, looking to the side to see Ratchet scowling before turning his attention back to the Second in Command, who gives the Cassette a look before approaching the other two.

Laserbeak, yellow optics alight, watches them in silence.

"The chances of obtaining an airborne Cassette would be higher if he was to get a Seeker's coding." The Tactician explains calmly, and the Decepticon squawks indignantly. "Of course, it could also happen naturally, but the chances of that are far lower."

"So, you mean, Soundwave wanted a flying Cassette and that's why he… uh… 'created' with Starscream?" The boy asks awkwardly, and Ratchet's engine gives a short rev in a snort-like gesture.

"Spark-merged, Spike. I'll explain that another time, but when two Cybertronian want to create together, they spark-merge." Laserbeak squawks again, struggling a bit with his restraints. "Though he seems really sure about being Soundwave's split spark creation." He adds, gesturing to the fuming Cassette.

"Split spark?"

"It's how a newspark is created by a single mature spark. Those that were created that way are called split spark creations." The medic answers easily, and the boy nods, filling the information away before turning to Prowl, calmly studying the captured Decepticon that is clearly glaring at them, pale yellow optics on the Second in Command's calm blue.

"That's what you meant when you said it was a tactical advantage? To spark-merge with a Seeker so that the Cassette would be a flier?" He asks the Tactician, who turns away from the once more squawking Laserbeak without a second glance.

"No. I meant that having a Flier Cassette as a spy would be more beneficial, more so because he already had a Grounder Cassette spy in Ravage, so, to increase the chances of that, spark-merging with a Seeker would be the best option to gain an unimpaired mech. Also, seeing how Starscream is the best Flier in the Decepticon ranks, that would make him a prime candidate."

Spike can feel his brain whirling but, instead of succumbing to the urge to just speak whatever words manage to get to his mouth in hopes for an answer, like he did back in the Rec Room, he takes some time to let them settle.

He doesn't like what he ends with.

"I think I've got it wrong. To my understanding, what you are saying is that Soundwave wanted Laserbeak to be a flier so that he could use him as a tool. Are you really saying that Soundwave created his children _to use them in the war_?"

"That is exactly what I've said." Prowl answers, and the teenager can't help but be glad he's sitting down.

Ratchet's servo feels warm as he wraps it around his back.

"Spike? You've got to understand one more thing. Cybertronian don't have a development period as comparatively long as humans. In fact, our own 'growth' can be over barely a joor after activation, which to a human would be like being in your adult frame an hour after 'birth'." The boy's eyes widen even more as he looks up at the medic. "We are installed all essential data, which means language packages, city state blueprints, law and conduct codes, and frame type directives, before becoming active for the first time. Those created by Vector Sigma are also installed work protocols for their assigned station, which is something that became a standard practice during the last part of the Golden Age for most of Cybertron's population."

"You didn't have a _childhood_? A time with your creators for them to—to _teach_ you? Like you said Primus did?" He squeaks, gesturing a bit, as he snaps out of his shock.

The Autobots' optics darken.

"I did." Ratchet answers softly, the servo on Spike's back retreating. "I was created by two mate bonded mechs, and we staid as a familial unit for a vorn, before I joined the Medical Repair Academy, but kept close even after that. But I was created long before the Newspark Law was passed." And then, he carefully looks at Prowl, whose doorwings are hanging low but tense, trembling softly. "Some of us did not have that luxury, and most were simply created by Vector Sigma."

"It is worse than that." The Tactician whispers, an almost inaudible growling of his engine permeating his voice. "It came to the point Newspark Protoforms weren't available to all castes, so when a viable newspark was created, the carrier had to give it up."

"You mean, they had to… to let the government take away their children?" Spike asks tremulously, paling when the Second in Command nods.

"The creators never knew what happened to them. Most thought they were transferred to a frame and put to work as soon as they were extracted, treated as if they'd been created through Vector Sigma. But others… others suspected that only those the Senate deemed useful were released to work."

"What does that mean?" The teenager whispers to Ratchet, unable to look away from the harsher trembling doorwings alternating between lowering almost limply and straightening tensely.

"It means that the newsparks were transferred to a Newspark Protoform and tested to see what their frame type and capabilities were, and if the Senate thought they could be useful to them, fill some work position, they were installed the needed data for that post and set to work. But if they weren't… they were deactivated." The boy gasps, turning to the sad-looking medic. "Most creators just forgot about their creations, but others…" Dark azure optics flash briefly as doorwings stiffen and the Tactician's optics flare an almost white blue, a growl-like rev cutting through the unvoiced words like a hot knife through butter.

"If everything's been cleared, I'll go back to my post." Ratchet nods, and, without a look back or any further words, Prowl walks out of the Repair Bay, faceplate as impassive as usual and doorwings held at shoulder level, though perhaps a bit more tense than normal.

The silence goes unperturbed for almost a minute before Spike gathers enough courage to turn to the ambulance.

"What happened to—?"

"I'm not answering." The medic cuts, going back to his tools. "That is Prowl's story. If you really want to know, you'll have to talk with him."

And the teenager just nods before looking at the door, knowing that he won't get an answer if he ever asked, not likely.

But he won't ask.

He has a good enough idea, anyway.

* * *

**AN:** Less laughter-oriented chapter, but not one of the darkest. You were warned.

Also, in my headcanon, Decepticons don't 'fly'. They have anti-gravs, sure, like do the Autobots, but they aren't powerful enough to let them fly. Seriously, Decepticons can fly but Autobots _can't_? Not computing.

So, here things work differently.

Let's make a list of the Decepticons on Earth during season 1: Megatron, Soundwave and Cassettes, Starscream's Trine, the Reflector components (who, to me, are a smaller Combiner team) and some more Seekers, if you wish (I tend not to include them, 'cause I can never figure out if they are different Seekers or the Command Trine with wrong colors, but if you want to add them...*shrugs* it's not relevant for what I'm about to say).

Now, let's make a list of their alt modes: Jets, a gun, a cassette player and cassettes, and a camera, with the last three/four able to shrink to normal human objects' sizes. And the Seekers have cockpits.

Conclusion? The Seekers carry the rest. And no, Starscream doesn't just drop Megatron to get rid of him, 'cause Soundwave's always paying attention and ready to release Laserbeak to catch their leader. Also, if the situation doesn't merit a 'run away as fast as you can' response, Megatron usually travels with loyal Skywarp.

Why don't the Seekers just fly away? Because Skywarp, as said, is loyal, Thundercracker is not stupid (Laserbeak will get Megatron out, if nothing else, and the Decepticon leader _won't_ be pleased if they do leave him on purpose) and Starscream is the kind to dive to the rescue. Why 'rescue' the rest? 'Cause he can ask for favors later ("How many times have I hauled your sorry aft out of danger? Won't you help me with this teeny tiny little thing? What, you won't? Well, not my fault if I _forget_ to pick you up during the next battle. And since every other Seeker follows my orders, who is going to come get you? Who? ... Yeah, I thought you would like to help.").

Also, I'm having Astrotrain come with the Constructicons to Earth instead of who knows how many chapters later. Problem solved.

So, when Ratchet here refers to 'aerial capabilities' he means _real_ flight, not hovering around on anti-gravs. Which is also why Spike thought about Seekers last chapter.

About the ending of this chapter... I know what I'm doing, I may even have Spike say or think out loud what that 'idea' is next chapter, but I'm not saying here. Let's see what you people think.

Also, think about Cybertronian (language) as in the live movies (Bay-verse). I've always thought it fitting, even though, for everyone's sake, they always spoke English in the cartoon. Sure, Teletraan downloaded a package with as many Earth languages as possible to them when it repaired them after the crash, but that doesn't mean Cybertronian got deleted.

The non-humanoid Cassettes' noises, at least those that aren't outright growling at people, are Cybertronian speech, so Laserbeak is actually speaking to Prowl and Ratchet here, even though Spike only hears squawking. So, Ratchet is translating for the boy when he says the Cassette 'seems really sure he is Soundwave's split spark creation'.

By the by, before I forget it, I know it's headcanon for a lot of us that doorwings and wings are mobile. Here, as you've read, doorwings have mobility. Wings don't, though their flaps do. It'll get explained further into the fic, don't worry. And take into account this is all from Spike's point of view.

This fic starts someplace during the first chapters of season 2, so Perceptor, Blaster and the Coneheads are already on Earth, amidst some others, but Vector Sigma hasn't been reactivated, so no Aerialbots nor Stunticons nor Combaticons. Yet.


	3. Sparks

Spike has finally managed to convince Ratchet to let him help, even if the mech keeps a watchful optic on him as he takes out and cleans the small—for a Cybertronian—parts of some kind of welder, when Hound and Gears enter the Repair Bay.

Curious, the boy looks up, and is rewarded by a bright smile and an annoyed look.

"Hey, guys!" He waves a hand, putting the small gear back in place a second later before giving the newcomers his full attention, something that the ambulance is too busy with whatever he's doing with another tool to do. "What brings you here?"

"That." The Minibot answers, pointing at where Laserbeak is recharging in his restraints.

Or looks like recharging. Spike thinks the Cassette is genuine, most likely having fallen into recharge due to boredom, but one can never be sure.

"Gears has been ordered to bring him to the brig." Hound explains as the medic gets up to help the mech on guard duty, leaving the boy looking up at the tracker. "And I've decided to come save you from boredom, if Ratchet's finished with you."

"Yes, I'm done with him. For today, at least. No way am I going to risk blowing his processor by trying to give him too much data at once." The ambulance answers with a small shifting of some armor plates, a gesture Spike has come to recognize as a shrug.

"Are we going for a ride?" He asks Hound as soon as they are out of the Repair Bay, Laserbeak's indignant squawking at being pulled out of recharge and the two Autobots' cursing as the Cassette pecks them going silent as the soundproof doors close.

"If you want to, that was my plan."

Spike beams.

And whoops, enjoying the warm air of the desert ruffling his hair, the sun reflecting on his sunglasses and the feeling of his leather jacket over the back of the driver's seat as the tracker moves over rock and sand with the same ease the twins would on paved road.

"You know, this is also an awesome way to enjoy my birthday gift!" He shouts over the roaring of the wind and the engine.

"How so?" Hound's voice asks through the speakers, sounding curious, as they approach a canyon.

"'Cause a military jeep is one of the coolest rides I could ask for—" He reaches for his jacket and, a bit awkwardly because of the seat belt, manages to put it on. "—this! Commander Spike Witwicky ready for action!" The mech laughs.

"Well then, Commander, Autobot scout and tracker Hound at your service. Shall I guide you to the topmost point of these approaching canyon walls, Sir?" The teenager snickers for a couple of seconds, before relaxing against the seat and resting an arm on the rolled down window.

"Proceed, soldier. We'll settle an outpost as soon as the area is secured."

"An outpost for what, Sir?" The boy frowns for a second, looking up at the pure blue sky as he thinks—and a smile appears on his face as he realizes he has just given himself an answer.

"For the Skywatch Operation, scout Hound." He answers pompously, and the soft rumble that shakes the seat isn't so much because of the engine than of the laughter the Autobot is trying to keep silent.

"As you order, Commander Witwicky! No Seeker or Cassette will slip past us!"

They both finally break down laughing, and the rest of the drive is spent in silence.

When they finally get at the top of the canyon, the first thing Spike does as soon as he's back on the ground is take off his leather jacket.

"Bad idea bringing this to the desert." Hound comments with a smile as he sits down next to the boy, making sure his shadow covers the human.

"Well, it was better than leaving it at base. Who knows what would have happened if Perceptor had found it!" The Autobot laughs, resting back on his servos calmly.

"Yes, you're right about that. He would probably have tried to find out what it's made off, and you know what this means." The boy can only hug his jacket closer to his chest with an exaggerated look of horror. "Samples!"

"No! Not my baby, anything but my baby!" The tracker laughs again, but Spike sobers at his own words, Prowl's lowering and rising trembling doorwings once more at the forefront of his thoughts.

"Hey, everything alright?" Dark eyes find blue optics and Spike doubts for a second.

"Just… Ratchet explained about creation and newsparks." He answers at last, the worry in the green mech's features enough to help him decide. "And then, Prowl woke up, and explained why Laserbeak _may be_ Starscream and Soundwave's creation, even if he says he's not."

"And?" Smiling softly at the Autobot's perceptiveness, Spike looks away for a second before turning to the tracker again.

"They told me about the Newspark Law." Hound winces, and that is what makes the human tense. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"Hey, it's alright. It's just, they shouldn't have told you about that when you were just beginning to learn about newsparks." The Autobot soothes him, waving his apologies off with a smile. "They should have told you about other things. Like… oh, yeah! Do you know about the confirmation?"

"When the, what's the word… carrier?" A nod, so Spike smiles and continues with more confidence. "When the carrier spark has made sure a newspark is viable."

"Exactly. And do you know this is when the carrier becomes aware of the newspark?" The boy shakes his head, because they've told him about when a newspark is non-viable, but not about when it's viable. "Well, it is. It takes about 16'6 of your days for the carrier spark to fully scan the newspark, and, once the confirmation is given, the development will begin. It takes between 66'4 and 83 days for the newspark to stabilize and get enough energy to be transferred to a Newspark Protoform, and the whole process, since the instant of creation until the activation, is called maturation of the newspark." Spike nods, noticing how it's similar to human pregnancy, minus the bellies.

Or, well. No one said anything about bellies.

Feeling a lot more insecure, he looks up into a suddenly curious Hound's optics.

"The newspark… does it 'grow' in the sense of 'getting bigger' during the maturation?"

"Well, yes, a bit. A newly created newspark is barely more than the laser core, which is why the maturation needs to happen, for it to stabilize the data and grow the halo."

And Spike ends so confused there are no words going out of his open mouth.

"Huh?"

Minus that.

"Spark physiology. All sparks are spherical bodies of energy arranged in different layers." The Autobot explains with a smile, giving the boy some seconds to shake the shock off, making sure he has his whole attention before continuing. "At the very center of the spark is the laser core, plasma so highly concentrated that it's in constant fusion reaction." And Hound has to stop again as Spike's brain reels at that.

"What? You mean—you guys are _radioactive_?" The tracker laughs.

"No, we're not. I said 'fusion reaction', not 'nuclear fusion reaction'. I know what you are going to say, that it's the same, but trust me, this is the only words I have to describe it in English. We have a whole vocabulary in Cybertronian for this, but…" The clinking of a plating shiver, aka Cybertronian shrug, fills the silence, but Spike is already calming down.

It won't be the first, nor the last, time language is a barrier they can't cross.

"Alright. So your spark is always working." Hound nods, relaxing in his seating position.

"Yes. In a way, they are like stars. Really tiny stars, mind you, but stars nevertheless." Awed and fascinated, remembering Ratchet's tale about Primus' spark, stronger than any star, being what created theirs, the human gestures for the tracker to continue. "As you said, our sparks are 'always working', as the laser core is in constant reaction because it's where the Energon is consumed. It also has a codependent relationship with the other layers of the spark, in that it radiates the energy and gravity that sustains them, but is kept together and stable by their presence."

"So it anchors them, and the others anchor it." Spike summarizes with a nod, which Hound returns.

"Exactly. Around it is the intermediate layer, also known as the data storage. It's a liquified mix of plasma and electricity always in constant movement, and is responsible for the stability of the laser core by exchanging energy between it and the halo. It contains the coding that determines the frame-type, personality and even the primary color scheme, all of which is copied to the processor when the spark is transferred to the Newspark Protoform." Seeing the boy's dumbfounded look, the Autobot smiles in amusement. "In human lore, I think you call that a 'soul'."

Spike leans forwards, keeping himself upright by resting his arms against his pulled up knees.

"You guys have a _physical_ soul?" A warm, almost too warm because of the sun beating on it, servo caresses his back, grounding him, and the teenager finally manages to meet the tracker's optics.

"Yes. It is what gives us life, and what helps us give it to others. We are alive because we have a spark, but if those sparks didn't have an intermediate layer we wouldn't be. In fact, we _really_ are sentient because of the whole of the spark, since its layers are so intertwined and interdependent that it's impossible to pull them apart and keep the spark alight."

"That's… weird." Hound laughs.

"Well, if you have it from the very beginning, you get used to it." He jokes, tapping his chest plates, and Spike snorts.

"I guess. And the other layers?"

"Only one more. The halo." The tracker answers, smiling calmly once more. "It's the outermost layer, and it is completely composed of electricity. It's responsible for keeping the laser core together and as plasma. It also regulates energy output, since it makes sure the pulses from the intermediate layer and laser core are strong enough to reach every part of our frames, but not too much to end frying our wiring. The halo evaporates the Energon, too, and carries it in its molecular state into the spark."

"So, it feeds the spark and acts as a messenger between it and the body."

"Precisely! You're a quick learner, Spike." The boy smiles widely at the praise, though shrugging a bit in modesty. "Also, in a spark-merge, it is the halos that mix and exchange the coding. It's also to the halo that a newspark will anchor itself, and, if it is viable, the halo will convert Energon and feed it to both the carrier spark and the newspark." Spike nods, happy about his new knowledge and the fact it hasn't ended with anyone crashing.

"So, there are no changes in the carrier Cybertronian during the… what did you call the process?" Hound's smile is a bit too big and sharp, and the boy does a double take.

Is the tracker… _smirking_?

"Maturation. And yes, there are, which is what I first wanted to tell you about." Feeling slightly worried, the teenager doubts for a second, before reminding himself that this is _Hound_, and Hound won't do or say something that will put the human in shock knowingly.

"Which is…?" He asks, softly, and the Autobot's smirk—yep, definitely a smirk—widens a bit.

"Do you know how a Cybertronian realizes they are carrying a viable newspark?"

"Morning sickness?" He blurts out without thought, and is rewarded by _Hound_ doing the double take this time.

"What now?"

"Morning sickness. Sometimes, when a woman gets pregnant, they'll throw up in the mornings." The Autobot's optics dim, most likely contacting someone who can explain things better than the slightly flustered human—

And brighten so much and so fast that Spike sees white splotches when he closes his eyelids.

Hound's hysterical babbling is almost too fast to understand, but it's impossible to do so, anyway, because he's speaking Cybertronian.

So, despite the almost frantic and pleading look he's giving the boy when he finally falls silent, Spike stays quiet for some seconds.

"If you repeat that slower and in English, I may be able to answer." The tracker's engine hiccups in what must be embarrassment, because the mech huddles a bit into himself with a small grimace.

"Sorry. I asked if you've developed a cure for this 'morning sickness'." The Autobot answers more calmly, and the boy frowns in confusion.

"Huh, no. It's not really a sickness." He quickly adds, an idea popping up. "It's called a 'sickness' because when people feel like they're going to throw up, they say they are going to be 'sick'. But it isn't deadly or anything."

"How can it _not be_?" Hound whispers, less horrified and more lost than before, and Spike ponders things to find the best way to explain.

"Well, even if they end up throwing up, pregnant women eat a lot, so it isn't like the baby will be lacking something." He finally sets for, and the Autobot relaxes so visibly, leaning forward, that he ends as half of his height. "Are _you_ alright?"

"Yes, yes. It's just… if a carrying Cybertronian was to suffer from this 'morning sickness', it would most likely lead to loss of the newspark, or deactivation of the carrier." Spike's mouth falls open as Hound straightens. "As I was about to say, one realizes they are carrying because the redirection of energy to the newspark lowers the carrier's energy levels drastically. It isn't cause of deactivation, it's just a warning, and the Cybertronian adjusts the energy intake once they know about the newspark, to have enough for both. But such an uncontrolled energy loss at the beginning of every orn? That… wouldn't be good." He finishes with a grimace, and the human winces in return.

"No, I guess not…" The boy whispers in return, shivering a bit.

"So, I had this friend, Dustraiser." Confused and startled by the sudden change in topic and the cheeriness in Hound's voice, Spike looks up with a questioning look. "We used to go for long drives a lot, to enjoy Cybertron's uninhabited areas. It was nice, and each memory set is worth treasuring, but there was this one time…" The tracker chuckles softly, and the teenager tilts his head, completely lost as to the point of all this. "We were about a joor away from Iacon—that would be about 6 hours—when he suddenly stopped. Scared me good, the slagger, when he didn't transform nor answer me. I was starting to think there was something really wrong with him when he finally went back to root mode, put his servos on his chest plates, and said, 'I'm carrying'." Spike's mouth drops open.

"Just like that?" Hound snickers a bit, plating tingling with its mirthful shaking.

"Yes, just like that. That's how things happen with us. Funny fact?" The boy nods, the mech's smile starting to become contagious. "I had to tow him back to Iacon, because his reserves had dropped so much between the drive and the beginning of the development that he didn't have enough to do so himself." The tracker laughs, and Spike finds himself doing so too.

Before he remembers what they talked about barely a minute before.

"Wait, wait. Didn't you say that the energy levels dropping so much could be dangerous?" He asks, more confused than worried.

"Yes, but we have fail-safes in place to avoid that, which is why Dustraiser knew he wouldn't be able to drive all the way back before his levels reached a low, though not yet dangerous, level, and his engine stopped. Also, the first wave of energy to the newspark after the confirmation is a big one, both to let the carrier know and to kick-start the newspark's development, but after that, the energy input to the newspark goes down to more constant and easily maintained levels, so there was no risk." The Autobot explains calmly, and the boy nods in understatement.

And then, Hound starts snickering again.

"Mech, wasn't that newspark a surprise, to the two of them." He muses out loud, once more attracting the teenager's curious gaze, and his prompting for an explanation. "Dustraiser had a mate, a… lifelong companion? What do you humans call those two individuals that decide to stay together during all of their function?"

"Well, that's usually married people. The man's the husband, and the woman's the wife." He answers a bit awkwardly, more so because now he knows there are no female Cybertronian.

"If you take that 'man' and 'woman' out of the equation, you could say that Dustraiser and Tensewire were married." Spike snickers at the thought, imagining two Cybertronian on the altar, one dressed in a tuxedo and the other in a white wedding dress. "And both of them were Minibots."

"Like Bumblebee and Cliffjumper?"

"The same frame-type, yes, but a different model." The boy frowns at that, but Hound just smiles calmly. "Gears and Huffer are also Minibots, but they're a different model that Cliffjumper and Bumblebee." And, feeling like an idiot for not putting two and two together, the teenager nods. "Well, they were Minibots, but their creation turned out to be a Cargo."

"I've heard that word before…"

"Prime's a Cargo." And Spike's world tilts dangerously, unwanted images coming back—

"I beg you, please tell me that there are no _physical_ changes in the carrying bot." He whimpers, trying really hard not to think about what _that_ means, remembering Ratchet's talk that they are just a spark before being transferred to their body—

"The only physical change is the lower energy levels and the increased energy consumption." Hound answers calmly, and the teenager lets himself fall on his back with a relieved sigh, all disturbing images finally vanishing. "Did I say something wrong?"

"No, no. It's just that humans grow physically, as in, their body, while they're developing in the mother's womb. So I first thought you guys grew like that, too." He explains, opening an eye to look at the dumbfounded tracker. "Yeah, silly me, huh?"

"Huh."

Spike starts to laugh at that and, after a second more to recover, Hound joins him.

"Well, I'm sure Dustraiser would be glad that isn't the case." The Autobot adds after they calm down.

And the teenager nods calmly, noticing for the first time the past tense, something that reminds him that the Cybertronian are in a war.

It's easy to forget, with the situation on Earth, about it, since the Decepticons act more like a group of cattle thieves with the Autobots being the town sheriff, as if the whole thing, despite its seriousness, was nothing more than a kid's cartoon.

_And today, the evil Decepticons will raid whatever place for a new weapon of mass destruction. Will the heroic Autobots arrive in time to stop them?_

He almost snorts at the thought, gaze lost in the pure blue sky.

Yes, it may feel silly at times, despite its importance to Earth, but, in truth, they all are refugees, Autobots and Decepticons both.

Cybertron is almost, if not completely, dead, most of the population either killed or gone, if the data the Autobots have on the number of troops—real troops, not drones—on each side is to be trusted—which it is.

And yet, here they are, always thinking about Earth and the humans first, instead of trying to cut the snake's head.

"You guys are too good." He tells Hound, who looks down at him with a curious look. "Just… thanks for everything."

"Anytime, Spike. We're all friends here, and I wouldn't be a good friend if I couldn't cheer you up or rescue you from boredom." The Autobot answers with a one optic reboot in a mimicry of a wink.

The teenager laughs, knowing the mech has taken it as thanking him for the ride and the story, instead of for taking care of his planet and species, but he's willing to let it slide.

"Hey, so, if the question isn't too invasive…" The tracker nods, and the boy sits up, feeling nervous as he remembers previous reactions. "Have you ever created?"

"Yes, and I have one successful creation." Hound answers happily, and Spike's mouth falls open.

"You have a child?" He repeats, astonished, and the Autobot nods.

"I do. No one you know." He adds, laughing loudly, at the boy's deep thinking frown. "We weren't specially close, either, and I don't know what happened after the war started, but… I like to think she got away." He sobers at that, though there's still a small proud smile on his faceplate.

"She? I thought you guys didn't have women?" The teenager asks softly, and Hound reboots his optics quickly before looking back at him with amusement.

"Perks of the language packages, it seems. Looks like it has identified 'femme' as a synonym of 'female' and has assigned it the female pronoun." He explains, chuckling a bit, and, at the lack of sadness or anger, Spike allows himself to smile back. "My Greenlight, who went to become a scientist. She always enjoyed being in a lab more than out in the wilderness, but hey, that's how things go. We are all different." He adds calmly, returning his gaze to the canyon and the vast emptiness of the surrounding desert.

"Hound?" The Autobot hums, turning to look at the human. "How could two Minibots create a mech like Prime?"

"Because the intermediate layer keeps coding from past spark-merges, sometimes for mere breems, others for vorns, or even for the rest of the Cybertronian's life. Also, when creating a newspark, some of the coding given to it, along the essential coding, may be that acquired from a different spark-merge, or even that from the creators' creators."

"Like, their grandparents?" Spike asks calmly, realizing that while looking like a previous partner would be a really wrong situation in humans, looking like another family member is not that different from what he's just been told.

"If that's the human designation for the creators of your creator, then yes." The tracker answers with a nod, and the teenager smiles.

"Wow. Talk about awkward." He snickers, and Hound gives him a confused look.

"It's not an uncommon occurrence in Cybertronian, even if having data from the creators' creators is a rare situation. Though I guess it would be to humans."

"Yes. For us, looking like family is normal, but looking like a guy who your mother hasn't seen in years?" He snorts, waving a hand in a 'no way' gesture. "If your kid doesn't look like blood-related family, it's most likely not yours."

"And you—oh, right." The tracker cuts himself, perking up a bit. "Nothing, I think I'm going to follow Ratchet's advice and let you have some time to process all the new data. So, Commander Witwicky, ready to head back to base?" He asks with a wide smile, getting up before transforming into his jeep alt mode.

"You bet, soldier!" He answers happily, getting into the car and putting the leather jacket on the passenger seat. "I can still be Commander without that on, can't I? Because it's too hot out here to wear it."

"Why, of course. A good Commander always knows what is best for his troops, and, right now, bringing you in healthy is the best for my continued functioning! I don't want Ratchet scolding me because you overheated." The whole jeep shudders before they pull away from the canyon, Spike's laughter loud enough to be heard over the engine.

* * *

**AN:** Own Dustraiser and Tensewire, but don't own Greenlight, even though the idea of having her be Hound's creation is mine. You can take them if you want, I only needed a scapegoat for Hound's story, but none of the cannon characters wanted to participate, so... *shrug*

Also, a nod to IDW in 'Commander Spike Witwicky' and 'Skywatch'. Couldn't not write it XP


	4. Decepticons

Jazz is waiting for them when they get back to the _Ark_.

He's leaning against the rock wall, smiling, visor dimmed to half its intensity, and bobbing his head along the rhythm of the music playing from his speakers.

"Hey there, how was your ride?" He asks when Spike gets off Hound to let him transform.

"Fun. And educative." The saboteur laughs at that before turning to the tracker.

"Could've used you here a couple breems ago." The green mech reboots his optics in surprise, for Jazz still looks calm and relaxed. "Ravage got in and got Laserbeak out."

"What? Where did they go?" Jazz just points and Hounds rushes to transform. "See you later, Commander!" And all that remains are words and dust.

And a confused Third in Command.

"Commander?" He repeats, looking down at Spike, who shrugs cockily, leather jacket slung over one shoulder and glasses still on.

"Why, don't you know? I'm Commander Spike Witwicky now." The Head of Special Operations lets his engine rev softly with an amused smile on his faceplate, before gesturing to the inside.

"Come on then, Commander Witwicky. I have something I'd like to show you." Curious, the boy follows and, after some minutes of only the music from Jazz's speakers, they arrive at their destination.

"Prowl's office?"

"He went after Ravage, but said I could show you this." The saboteur explains with a quick reboot of one half of his visor in a wink. "Come on, this will be _educative_." He adds with soft snickers, and Spike can't help but laugh a bit.

Once the Autobot has made himself at home on one of the chairs and helped the boy to the top of the table, he points at the monitor.

"We were looking over something and found this. We thought you needed to know, so…" Without another word, the mech clicks something and the black screen comes to life.

Soundwave and Starscream's murderous almost white optics stare back into surprised dark human eyes.

Spike can't help the shiver coursing through his body.

It doesn't help that, when he looks back at Jazz, the Autobot is completely serious.

"Those are two really angry mechs. And if what the twins and Bumblebee have told us is the truth, now that Laserbeak has escaped they will know who was behind that misunderstanding."

"But… it was a mistake, I didn't know…"

"No, you didn't." The Head of Spec Ops answers with a nod, voice firm yet soothing. "You just hope they decide to care about that."

Pale and feeling weak, Spike sits down on the table.

"What—Why—I—I understand they are angry, or offended, but…"

"Trust me, Spike. There are few offenses worse than what you unknowingly implied." The saboteur's dactyl feels warm as it strokes his back, and the boy concentrates on it.

"They are going to squish me, aren't they." Jazz doesn't answer, and, when he looks at him, the teenager sees his faceplates are schooled into complete lack of emotion, even the soft blue of his visor giving nothing away.

That's never good.

"As I said. Lets hope they decide to care about it being a misunderstanding." The boy whimpers, giving one quick look at the image onscreen before turning to the saboteur.

"But—Why? What did I say that was so bad?" Jazz's visor dims almost to blackness as he lets out a soft exhale in what would have been a human sigh.

"Alright. Decepticons are structured by power. Not just brute strength and processor development, but a combination of both. Even if sometimes one makes up for the lack of the other." The Autobot begins, taking back his servo to rest it in front of him on the desk. "What you implied isn't just a weakness, but the fact that the Command Hierarchy is maintained by interfacing favors, instead of power." Spike blinks in confusion for a moment before his eyes widen.

"You mean, that they are where they are because they've…" He fidgets a bit, embarrassed, before forcing the words out of his mouth. "Because of sexual favors?"

"Huh, no." The teenager frowns in confusion, and a small smile appears on Jazz's face. "If that was the case, they would be nothing more than… consorts, would be the most accurate term. No, they are Communications Officer, Air Commander, Second and Third because they've earned it. But the fact _Starscream_ is Second when everybot knows Soundwave's completely loyal to Megatron… _That_ may be explained by such a relationship."

"Relationship? But, I thought they couldn't stand each other?"

The Head of Spec Ops' smile turns… bitter? Sad?

"That can easily be explained as acting. Wouldn't be hard for _Decepticons_. And by relationship… Well, you don't create a newspark with every spark-merge, least of all a viable one. Sure, you might get lucky—or unlucky—and carry after just one merge, but that's pretty rare. Besides, Soundwave has three Flier Cassettes, so it would be logical to think that if 'Screamer is the creator of one, he may also be that of the other two." Spike nods, understanding that after everything he's been told, and Jazz's smile twitches, but doesn't grow. "So, that brings us back to the hierarchy. Why is a loyal mech lower in rank than a known traitor?"

The teenager's eyes widen, realizing that, despite all that's happened, this is the first time he has really asked himself that question.

"I… have no idea. To… keep Starscream in sight? You know, friends close and enemies closer?"

"They could just deactivate him and get rid of the problem. Or keep him in any other position that wasn't so high up." The saboteur points out, and the boy frowns. "But yes, that is the most likely answer. On the other servo, if you consider Starscream and Soundwave are in a long-term interfacing relationship, which includes frequent spark-merges… That changes everything."

"How so?" Jazz's constant small smile vanishes, and Spike almost regrets asking.

"Because you'd be implying one of the two submits to the other. Either Soundwave stays as Third in exchange for the interfacing, or Starscream has 'bought' his position as Second with it."

"Isn't that the same?" He whispers, slightly scared by the Autobot's seriousness.

"No. It depends which of the two _offered_."

Who bowed down first. Who was the one who would lower himself to that, either the loss of power for sex, or selling his body for power.

The teenager is starting to realize why their reactions were so extreme.

"And, as if that wasn't enough…" Startled, he looks up into the slightly darker visor, faceplates still schooled into such impassiveness that the Decepticon Third in Command would be proud. "That implies one holds control over the other, more so if you put the Cassettes in the equation." The boy's mouth opens to ask a question, but an almost threatening flash of the saboteur's visor makes him close it with a snap. "You don't mess with a Cassette-carrier's creations, and neither with a Seeker's. Usually, you only have the chance to do it once."

And Spike doesn't know how to take that, if it means they end dead or if the lesson is so well learned that they don't try again.

He doesn't want to know.

"So, better leave them some time to simmer and cool down. Prowl and I thought it better if you don't accompany us in the next skirmish, just in case." He nods numbly, and Jazz smiles again as nonchalantly and calmly as ever. "Glad we cleared that."

The boy nods once more before returning his attention to the screen, looking into those almost white optics and visor, the snarl on Starscream's faceplate, the tension of Soundwave's frame, how both mechs' servos are curled almost claw-like…

And he nods again, reaffirming Jazz's words.

He doesn't want to find out if they would take into account Spike didn't know any of that when he spoke.

"Hey, take it easy. Now that you know, you can make sure it doesn't happen again." The saboteur soothes with his usual easygoing attitude, turning off the monitor. "Wanna go see the twins and Bee? Prime got them on cleaning duty." He looks up quickly at that, stunned, and the Head of Spec Ops blinks in his peculiar way. "Wash-racks first, then the brig, and maybe those storage rooms that are barely used."

Which means filth and dust.

Sunstreaker's face is going to be awesome.

Jazz just needs to see his growing grin to help him down the table and guide him to the first stop.

* * *

Both the twins and Bumblebee are in a far better mood when they come pick him up the next weekend, and so is Spike when they tell him they're going to finally have that race.

His father laughs and agrees to come along, so while the teenagers gets into the VW Beetle, the older man takes the red Lamborghini, Sunstreaker refusing to carry a human if he can avoid it, due to their 'permanently shedding outer layer'.

It isn't until they are a couple miles out of town that the race really begins, and Bumblebee surprises them all by taking the lead, earning himself two squeaks from the twins and laughter from the humans.

"_Think you're going to get away that easy?_" The yellow Lamborghini challenges through the open comm line between the three Autobots, to which the humans are privy via their speakers.

"_This race is mine!_" His twin exclaims, and Spike can hear his father harrumph. "_I mean, ours. This race is ours._"

The others laugh at the peevish tone, before the other yellow car gets to the Beetle's side in a single burst of speed.

"_See you at the _Ark_!_" Sunstreaker exclaims before leaving them in a cloud of dust, Sideswipe being just a flash of red as he, too, rushes past them.

"_Last to the _Ark_ has to clean the wash-racks!_" The red Lamborghini exclaims happily, and Spike can only yelp when Bumblebee's burst of speed presses him against the seat.

"Oh, no! Not again!" The Beetle returns, quickly catching up to the bickering twins—

The speakers explode with static an instant before some kind of beams impact on the frontliners, the cars skidding madly on the road before colliding with each other, Bumblebee almost joining the pile before his brakes manage to stop him.

"Dad!" The teenager shouts, but the cloud of dust and the static still sounding through the speakers doesn't let him see or hear anything.

"Spike, get out! I'll try to—!" The scout's words cut short as another beam impacts against his hood, blinding the human for a second and making the car shudder as the static cuts out instantly.

"Bee! Bee, answer me!" Instead of his friends voice, what reaches his ears is a loud thumping sound that makes him jump a bit on his seat.

As he looks out the window, the teenager pales.

The cloud of dust is falling, but the giant silhouette isn't completely visible yet.

It doesn't need to be.

Those wings are completely unmistakable.

Spike rushes to the passenger seat and thanks all deities that Bumblebee had already unlocked the doors before the null-ray hit—because it can't be nothing other than a null-ray, since none of the Autobots exploded.

Quickly getting out of the car, he directs a last look at the Seeker, the dust around the head tinted red, before rushing to where he last saw the twins and his father—

He lets out a grunt as he collides with something cool yet warm, but feels no reassurance at realizing it is living metal.

He can feel the seams and empty spaces against his front that he's learned to recognize as dactyls, but the twins are—

The servo closes around him, firm yet not bruising, and he feels himself lifted quicker than he's used to or comfortable with.

A quick look confirms his suspicions that this is not another Autobot when he finds himself staring up into a red visor.

And then, he's thrown away.

The boy screams as he feels himself flying through the air, a collision once more driving the air out of his lungs, though a softer one this time.

Something wraps itself around his torso, binding him to whatever he's sitting on, before a light weight falls on his lap.

And then, he hears the whining of a plane's turbines, just before the click of the orange canopy closing mutes it.

"You try anything on him, and we'll see how well you fly." A well known though threateningly low voice fills the cockpit of the F-15 Falcon as the boy is pushed against the seat at the sudden acceleration.

Scared out of his wits, Spike can only clutch whatever is on his lap closer to his chest in search for comfort.

When he feels the rectangular form and sharp angles, the boy risks a look down, and pales at the confirmation his eyes give him.

Slightly dusty brown because of the desert sand, Soundwave is, nevertheless, easily recognizable.

Gulping nervously, the teenager relaxes his grip on the dark blue and white cassette player, but holds it firmly.

He really doesn't want to be thrown out of Starscream's cockpit.

What feels like an hour later, he feels the invisible force pressing him against the seat grow weaker and, an instant later, the seat belts have retracted and Spike finds himself falling through empty air.

His scream doesn't have time to grow to more than a squeak before he lands on a servo, but the dark faceplates and red optics staring down at him are anything but reassuring.

It only takes a second for Spike's fear to turn to confusion when he realizes that Starscream is looking amused, small smirk included.

"You can release Soundwave now."

The teenager blushes brightly when he realizes he's been clutching the cassette player tightly against his chest, as if to protect it from the impact.

The instant he releases his tight grip on it, it seems to fly to the Seeker's side while enlarging and changing shape.

A muffled thud later, the Decepticon Communications Officer stands next to the Air Commander, his emotionless face staring down at the human with his visor orangish-red.

With a softness he wasn't expecting, Starscream puts the boy on the ground before straightening, his amusement nowhere to be seen.

Spike takes a quick look around, seeing only more desert and no sign of any recognizable features all around them, before turning to the two Cybertronian.

Two. Only two.

No sign of Cassettes or other Seekers, even if they may be in Soundwave's chest compartment or flying too high for him to see.

Nevertheless, they are two too many, and those he really hoped he wouldn't see, to boot.

He's grown too relaxed this past week.

Before giving them another instant to squish him, even if he's not sure why they wanted to take him away for that, Spike gathers his courage and looks them in the eyes.

Er, optics and visor.

"I'm sorry." His voice sounds strong, but when the Decepticons don't react, he feels his confidence slowly evaporate, leaving him hunching a bit into himself and twiddling his thumbs in nervousness. "I—I didn't know anything about Decepticon hierarchy, and I didn't mean to imply anything with what I said, I just… I was curious and I didn't really understand what they were telling me, but Ratchet and Hound and Jazz explained afterward, and I realized I'd been really wrong and drawn all the wrong conclusions, because I was thinking more about how we humans reproduce since I didn't know anything about Cybertronian and—" He stops and takes a deep breath, feeling as if chocking after his rambling, but, before he can continue, he looks up at the Decepticons.

Starscream looks amused again, and Soundwave's visor is an orange color that, along his slightly tilted helm, make him look either curious or amused, too.

"Uh… Yeah, that. I'm sorry I made it sound like you two weren't where you are because of yourselves."

To Spike's astonishment, both of them nod.

"Looks like you were updated with the proper information, then." The Seeker muses out loud, his smirk widening in a gesture that, surprisingly, isn't as much threatening as it is satisfied.

The human jumps back all the same when Soundwave kneels down, never looking away from the human with his now usual red visor.

The teenager doubts a bit before deciding not to move, not knowing what to make of it all.

"Assumption: Erroneous. Suggestion: Never assume." The Communications Officer explains patiently, his usual monotone sounding strangely soothing, to the boy's confusion.

"Which is why you asked that back then, according to Laserbeak. Only, it wasn't the right question." Starscream adds nonchalantly, plating tingling in a Cybertronian shrug. "You should always ask, even if your questions may not be answered, but at least this way the other party knows you aren't knowledgeable about the subject, which helps identify possible misunderstandings."

"Laserbeak: Replayed full conversation. Human knowledge: Flawed and lacking. Situation: Misunderstanding." Soundwave adds, and Spike realizes, at last, that they aren't angry.

If they have heard the whole talk, they know the teenager knew nothing, and what he was explained. They realize it was a misunderstanding, and so are… trying to help?

"So you are… giving me tips so that this doesn't happen again." To the boy's astonishment, both of them nod. "Why?"

"Human: In need of explanation. Misunderstandings: Not enjoyable."

"In short, we don't want more idiocy spread around because of something easily solved." Starscream summarizes, tilting his helm with his optics strangely darker. "So, be sure to ask about all the details of any process or situation before starting to ask about individuals."

Spike nods, once more surprised at the lack of threat in both their voices and stances, his own hunched and fearful position relaxing.

"Will do." The Decepticons nod once more and, feeling bolder, and perhaps still stunned by everything, he finds himself speaking before he can stop himself. "Is Laserbeak your creation?"

The Seeker's engine rumbles, but it is in an amused snort-like equivalent, while Soundwave turns a darkened visor to his fellow mech before looking back at Spike.

"Negative. Laserbeak: Split spark creation." He answers calmly, the red gaze as bright as usual, and the boy nods.

"And the others?"

"Buzzsaw and Ratbat: Split spark creations. Ravage, Frenzy and Rumble: Spark-merge creations. Co-creator: Deactivated, unknown to Autobots." The Communications Officer answers easily, to the teenager's astonishment.

He wasn't really expecting an answer to his carelessly asked question.

"So, do you have any creations?" Starscream's calm visage turns quickly to a snarl at his inquiry, optics bright and dangerous, and Spike flinches back.

When he sees that, the Seeker forces his faceplates back into stoicism, crossing his arms over his chest plates.

Soundwave tilts his head with his visor flashing orange at that, but the Air Commander doesn't seem to pay attention to the subtle gesture.

"That is not of your incumbency." He answers, voice low and raspy, though not exactly threatening.

Glad he's avoided being squished once more, the boy nods.

"Sorry." The Seeker lets out a huff, looking away, and the Communications Officer turns back to the human.

"Questions: Must be asked. Answers: May not be given. Apologies: Unnecessary." Tilting his head in curiosity, Spike muses over that for a bit before nodding again.

"Alright. Uh, what are you going to do with me now?" He asks tremulously, and Soundwave finally gets back to his feet as Starscream uncrosses his arms.

"Do we look like we want a human pet?" The Seeker answers with a scowl, not giving the teenager another look before transforming, cockpit opening and engines still turned off. "Now, we get rid of you."

For a second, Spike stiffens, afraid that they're just going to go away and leave him alone in the desert, with no one knowing where he is.

But then, Soundwave grabs him once more and puts him down in the jet's seat, where the seat belts quickly envelop him.

A second later, he finds himself with a cassette player once more on his lap and the orange canopy closed, flying over the desert.

This time, he feels calm enough to look outside and enjoy the view, the canyons they pass over so fast that they're barely stripes of black or darker red, or even blue and green, and the occasional cloud over them, since they aren't flying all that high.

And then, a certain volcano becomes visible, and Spike finds himself smiling—

And laughing loudly when Starscream approaches to a safe distance from where the _Ark_ is protruding from the mountain side, and Ironhide and Trailbreaker's gobsmacked expressions come into view, both Autobots quickly straightening from where they were calmly leaning against the rocks, weapons charged and on the Decepticon, but not firing.

"Aw, I should have brought my leather jacket. That would have been the coolest thing ever." The boy moans softly as their speed decreases and they softly touch down.

"Query: To resemble a military officer." Soundwave asks, to the teenager's surprise, though he quickly recovers.

"Yes. I am Commander Spike Witwicky, head of Skywatch." He answers with a big smirk, and he hears snickering come through the speakers before the seat belts retract and the canopy opens.

Spike gets up, puts the cassette player on the seat, where the belts quickly secure him, and climbs out, landing on a wing before jumping down.

At the once more stupidly surprised expressions on the mechs faces, the boy snickers to himself.

"_I'm gonna send my pigeons to the sky, where they can fly hiiiiiigh!_" The teenager startles at the sudden music, turning quickly to the jet before a harsh rumble of the turbines and the sudden closing of the cockpit mutes it.

"Later, Commander!" Starscream's voice calls as the craft gets off the ground thanks to the anti-gravs, blasting away with the Seeker's usual speed after a blink.

When the dust finally settles, Spike turns to the Autobots—

And falls down laughing.

* * *

**AN:** I. Don't. Know. What. I'm. Doing.

What the _Pit_?! What happened here?! How did the chapter become _this_?! And how did I manage to get more headcanons out of _headcanons_?! This is like a game of Minesweeper, you uncover one cell, and you suddenly find yourself with a whole quarter of the area cleared for you to view all the juicy points... I don't want to know what happens when I find the bombs...

*Points accusingly to doe-eyed plot bunny* This story wasn't supposed to go this way! It was supposed to be a series of shots, some humorous and some darker, not turn into a completely independent story! *Plot bunny turns Totoro-sized and smiles widely as it gives a bear hug*

*Sigh* Guess I'm doomed to have all my stories get out of my hands, after all...

Sorry, forgot about this: The song is _I'm gonna send my pigeons to the sky_, by Golden Earring.

And, to those who noticed/are interested, the reason I didn't write a question mark after the 'Query: To resemble a military officer' is because Soundwave has already stated it's a _query_. You see, if he speaks always in a monotone, with barely any inflection, the sentence wouldn't sound like a question, which is why he adds 'query' before it (and why he's always 'suggestion', 'query', etc). That's another HC of mine, to explain why Soundwave speaks the way he does.


	5. Revenge

An hour after his 'kidnapping' by the Decepticons, Spike isn't laughing anymore.

While his father is uninjured and was already out of Sideswipe when a group of Autobots went to retrieve their companions, the three mechs are not fine.

Sure, they were hit by null-rays, but the effects have been greatly enhanced, to the point Ratchet can only sigh and tell them that the best thing is to wait for the effects to pass on their own.

And, as if that isn't all, the affected Autobots' sensory networks shut down after about five minutes of the initial hit.

Which means they know the Decepticons took Spike, but not that they've been rescued and the boy is fine.

"They really managed to get their revenge." Ratchet growls softly, looking at the three cars on a cleared part of the Repair Bay, leaning against the table over which are the two humans.

Sparkplug is still keeping an arm around his son's shoulders, even after being reassured that nothing happened to him, but the teenager doesn't protest.

He's been worried about him too.

"So, if I've understood this right, Soundwave and Starscream showed up to _teach_ Spike about the mess of last week, and to pay the twins and Bumblebee back for laughing at them?" The older man asks, and Ratchet revs his engine while Prowl and Optimus, who are going over the boy's tale, now written on a datapad, nod.

"Yes. Spike's misunderstanding was to be corrected to avoid future repetitions, which is what we set to do as soon as we became aware of the problem." The tactician explains before turning to look at the three paralyzed mechs. "Yet, their actions were to be punished, for they knew the meaning of every word and the consequences of such assumptions, and those are intolerable, both for them as individuals and for their positions in the Decepticon hierarchy. Since their actions were deliberate, they searched for the more effective punishment."

"And what could be worse for us, who have taken you in as comrades and friends, who have sworn to protect you, than to know one of you would suffer for _our_ decisions, our actions?" Prime adds, sad and disappointed, as he shakes his helm slowly. "To know their rashness brought about Spike's kidnapping and to leave them isolated from the world, to lose themselves in their imaginings, in the worst case scenarios their processors can conjure… That, is the cruelest punishment."

"Worst of all will be when they finally break out of it and see you are alright, for now they know what could happen if something like this was to repeat itself again. And you might not be so lucky next time." Ratchet ends with a scowl. "Playful Decepticons, as if the normal ones weren't bad enough."

"Actually, I was the one to tell them about 'Commander' Witwicky." The teenager answers sheepishly, and his father chuckles softly.

"Did you tell Soundwave to play that song?" The medic asks, and the boy's laughter at the memory may seem accusing, but the ambulance knows the truth. "I'm surprised Starscream didn't just let him fall after taking off."

"Well, he wasn't all that happy." Spike snickers, sobering after a couple of seconds.

"Just to make sure, they told you to always ask if there was something you didn't understand, to either explain or, at least, know that you had no information about the topic." Prowl repeats, and, as the four times before, the boy nods.

"And they said not to apologize if the question was uncomfortable, that it was better to know the answer or the lack of knowledge than to assume and end up in another mess like this one. Soundwave even answered a couple of my questions." Three pairs of optics are suddenly on him, and Spike realizes with a start that he hasn't told them about said inquiries. "Oh, right. I asked him if Laserbeak was really his and Starscream's, and he said that no, that he's a split spark creation. And that Buzzsaw and Ratbat are too, but that Ravage, Frenzy and Rumble are co-created. Also, the co-creator is deactivated and you don't know who he is." He summarizes, and, after a quick reboot of their optics, Ratchet revs his engine in amusement.

"His Flier Cassettes are the split sparks? Are you sure he wasn't mocking you?" The medic asks, as Prowl's doorwings twitch while he writes something more to the report.

"Could have been." The boy answers with a shrug, because Soundwave _is_ a Decepticon after all. "At least _he_ answered."

"You asked Starscream something?" Prime's voice is full of curiosity, as are his optics, as he turns to the boy, the other two Cybertronians' attention fully on him, too.

"I asked him if he had creations and… well, that was the first time since they took me that he got angry. He said that it was 'none of my incumbency', so I let it slide. Soundwave looked kind of curious, though." He muses out loud, remembering the slight tilt of the dark blue helm and the orangish color of his visor as the Seeker fumed. "And then, they brought me back."

Spike looks at the Autobots, at Ratchet's calm as he scans the paralyzed mechs once more, at Prowl's darkened optics seemingly staring at nothing as his doorwings twitch softly, and at Optimus' searching gaze fixed on his Second in Command.

Confused by the two high ranked officers' behavior, the teenager keeps looking.

The tactician's optics brighten slowly and, with a sharper twitch of one doorwing, he seems to realize he's the focus of the Prime's stare.

The Datsun turns to look at his superior and reboots his optics quickly in what may either be confusion or curiosity.

And then, all in the room startle as the black and white mech's doorwings flare wide open and hitch up, optics flashing almost white as his features become sharp and his engine gives a short but powerful roar.

Prime takes a couple of steps back and quickly looks to the ground.

A quick look at the medic shows him completely still and also staring at the floor.

After a second of uncomfortable quietness, Prowl's doorwings move back to their normal position and his optics dim to a more calm clear blue, returning to the datapad as if nothing had happened.

When Optimus goes to Ratchet to ask if anything has changed with the paralyzed mechs, acting as if _really_ nothing had happened, the two humans exchange a look.

Steeling himself, the teenager straightens and turns to the Datsun—

But the whirring of gears and coughs of engines makes his attention go to the transforming frontliners and scout.

He has barely managed to put a smile on his face when the three of them assault the medic and the Prime in a panic, speaking quickly in Cybertronian.

The other two Autobots answer calmly and, after something the medic says, they all turn to stare at the humans on the table.

Three wide and relieved smiles tamper down to more subdued ones as Prowl steps next to the Witwicky's, before turning absolutely embarrassed and remorseful.

While Prime starts some kind of speech, still in Cybertronian, and Ratchet pokes and prods at the three scolded mechs, the teenager looks up at the tactician, who has amused pale blue optics fixed on the rest of Autobots.

"What is going on?" He asks softly, and the doorwings give a soft twitch but the Datsun doesn't look away.

"Prime is telling them how disappointed he is." He answers simply and, after a look at the frontliners and scout, Spike has to fight to keep his snickers silent. "I can assure you, after this is over, they will never mock the Decepticons again about something even remotely related to you humans."

And that is what makes the Witwicky break down in laughter.

That, and the small, almost not there, amused smile on the Second in Command's lips.

So, when Optimus is done with the lecture and Ratchet with the examinations, father and son just accept the three mechs apologies and ask to be taken to the rec room for a couple of rounds of one of the games there.

Sideswipe, Sunstreaker and Bumblebee smile widely and transform, resuming their race in the corridors of the _Ark_, much to Prowl's annoyance, if the sound of sirens after them is any indication.

The five of them only laugh harder.

* * *

"So, what will be today's lesson?" Spike asks as he sits down on the table, his father with him.

Ratchet gives them a quick look before returning to whatever he's tinkering with.

"Well, I've been told you know the basics of creation already, so we could either move to another topic or you can keep asking about this one." The medic answers calmly, and the boy grimaces.

"Yeah, right. As if I wanted to know the specifics of the 'creating' moment." The teenager grumbles under his breath, and the older man snorts.

"Well, since Spike won't ask, I will." Sparkplug answers louder, almost cheerfully, and receives a nod from the mech and a wide-eyed pleading look from his son. "The bodies of your creations. How do you make them?" Ratchet stops his tinkering and looks up impressed.

"Good question. We don't 'make' them so much as create the basic Newspark Protoform and let the newspark modify it. Wait a moment." The humans' open mouths close, silencing their questions, as the ambulance goes to some drawers and starts rummaging. "The protoform is the innermost structure of any Cybertronian, our skeleton and vital organs, you may say. There's also the main sensor net and, depending on each individual, there may be some cosmetic armor plates. Some even have weapons, but that's—here it is!" With a big smile and a datapad in hand, the medic closes the drawer and approaches the humans. "This is a Newspark Protoform." And he shows them the image on the screen.

The best the teenager can think about when he sees it is the robotic skeleton of _The Terminator_. Though with some more plates on arms and legs.

"When the newspark reaches the end of the maturation, it is transferred to the Newspark Protoform. Then, the energy it has accumulated during the development is released in a strong burst, jump-starting all systems and copying the coding to the processor. The power also allows the protoform to modify itself according to the coded in specifications." A dactyl touches one of the many rows of weird symbols on one side of the page, a completely different column appearing and another line selected, and the image changes.

Before the Witwicky's awed eyes, the robotic body's parts start to move and, in some cases, modify, until the resulting mech has a bigger and more exposed form.

Spike takes a look at the squared chest and the pointy protuberances in place of ears, and does a double-take, the being suddenly more familiar.

"Is that a… one like Prime?" He asks softly, and Ratchet nods with a smile.

"A Trailer Roller model of the Cargo frame type." The mech answers easily, and the boy beams up at him.

"Can you show us more? Other mechs? How about a Minibot?" The medic's amused smile grows, and, with a nod, he presses something on the screen that turns the protoform back to its original state.

Before he can input the new orders, though, the alarms go off.

"Looks like it'll have to wait for later." The ambulance growls, quickly putting the pad on the first available drawer and helping the humans down the table. "Shall we go see what those Decepticons have done now?" He asks as he transforms, doors open, and none of the humans hesitate to get in.

* * *

They are a safe distance away from the unstable nuclear facility that is the battleground, but Spike feels more endangered than he would be next to the cracked walls.

Mostly because there's only his father with him, all the Autobots battling the Decepticons.

But not all the Decepticons are battling the Autobots.

Frenzy and Rumble's threatening sharp smiles only widen as the humans take a step away from the Cassettes.

"Aw, what are those scaredy faces for, fleshies? There's nothing to fear." The red and black Cybertronian snickers with a too sweet voice.

"Of course not. After all, we're only trying to help." His twin adds with a darker tone, visor flashing dangerously. "Help the Decepticons get rid to you, help the Autoscum clean their ship of pests, and help your miserable existences by bringing an end to them."

"Oh, yeah? I'd like to see you try, Decepticreeps." The teenager retorts, but takes another step away from the Cassettes as their arms transform into drills and pile-drivers, respectively.

"Shouldn't you be, I don't know, carrying cubes, or helping fight the Autobots?" Sparkplug cuts in as the threatening small mechs slowly trap them against a rocky formation.

"As much as we would love to kick Autobot aft—"

"—we have unfinished business with you vermin."

Spike's brain winds to a stop, before he suddenly remembers a teeny tiny detail.

If someone insulted his father, he would immediately defend him.

Frenzy and Rumble are Soundwave's creations, his 'children'.

And there was a certain misunderstanding about the Second and Third in Command of the Decepticons…

"Is this about the mess with Soundwave and Starscream? Because I talked with them, it was a misunderstanding! We already cleared it!" Both Cassettes let out sharp bursts of air, as if snorting.

"Cleared it with _them_. But it won't be over until we make sure you can't keep spewing such slag!" Frenzy answers with a snarl, pointing a drill at them, and the humans exchange a look of slight despair.

_"Even if I can't see how _creation_ will ever be useful to get out of a situation… unless you _purposefully_ twist it to make others fritz."_

Spike's eyes widen, and the look his father gives him can only be translated as 'please, tell me you're not about to do something stupid that could potentially get us killed'.

The teenager mentally crosses his fingers as he turns to the Decepticons and steels himself.

"Is it?" Both Cassettes' smiles and snarls turn to confusion. "Slag, I mean. Or are you trying to cover up your creator's affair?" Visors flash almost white as Sparkplug groans in a 'we're doomed' way.

"_What_?!"

"You know, they're both pretty high in the chain of command, which means they must be really busy, and busy people tend to get really tense. And what better way to release some tension than to spend some quality time with another mech?" Frenzy's drills turn on and off in what would have been twitching fingers, his optical band frizzling slightly with static, as Rumble gapes like a fish out of the water, pile-drivers lowering slowly as if their weight is too much for his shoulders to support. "Plus, I've heard there are some advantages in being with a Seeker. You could get another flying sibling." Both twins let out bursts of static as they shake worse than leaves in a storm. "Also, being with someone so different means there's more to explore, more to try… Tell me, what would Soundwave do with Starscream's wings?"

Silence.

And then, with a sound like a shot, the red and black Cassette's visor goes black and he falls lifelessly to the ground.

His twin's jaw follows, almost literally, but he's still online, even if his optical band is flashing so badly that Spike sees many new shades of red in it for the first time in his life.

The next sound isn't a cough of an engine or the crash of metal on rock, but Rumble's snarl, and Spike swears in his head as the Decepticon looks at them with the most murderous look ever.

"Looks like that backfired." Sparkplug hisses as they step away from the almost literally smoldering Cassette.

"Um."

"I'm. Going to squish you. So badly. That you'll be _evaporated_ by the time the Autobots get here!" The blue mech shrieks loud enough to make their ears ring, jumping towards them—

And stopping midair as two dark blue servos envelop his torso.

Still shrieking like a banshee—or like Starscream, but Spike isn't going to say that out loud—Rumble trashes madly in the hold, not even thinking about transforming his pile-drivers back to servos to try to get rid of the bigger ones instead of just pushing against them.

Soundwave gives the humans a look, visor almost orange in what the boy is beginning to recognize as curiosity, as he straightens, pulling his creation up to chest level.

A quick look at the immobile black and red frame at his feet later, the bigger Decepticon turns his attention to the wary humans pressed against the rocks as if they could phase through them.

"Query: What happened."

"Huh… Self defense?" The teenager supplies without much thinking, not knowing how to interpret the fact he's been saved from a crushing death by their assailant's father picking the Cassette up like one would a hissing kitten.

"Query: What was said." Spike feels himself blush softly at that, looking between the still orangish visor and the screeching Rumble in Soundwave's servos before turning to the tape deck.

"I kinda… made them imagine you and Starscream together." The Communications Officer's visor flashes, but it quickly returns to its usual red instead of going to that menacing almost white, blue and white plating tingling softly in what the boy doesn't know if it's self-restraint or amusement.

"Human: Would make a fine Decepticon." Spike's mouth falls open.

Is he… congratulating him on his strategy to put Frenzy out of commission?

Plating tingles again at the teenager's dumbfounded look, and he finally realizes amusement is the reason behind it, as well as the paling of the visor.

Huh.

"Query: Words to anger Rumble." Spike takes a second to think the question over before deciding that answering is the better course of action, more so with the good humor the other is apparently in.

"I asked him what would you do with Starscream's wings." Soundwave's visor flashes again, and Sparkplug hisses a bit when a soft tremor, like the vibrations of a bass, fills the air.

After a second putting together the sound with the once more orangish visor and the tilt of the helm, the teenager reaches a disturbing conclusion.

The Decepticon is chuckling.

"Query: Want me to answer."

Silence.

Even Rumble has stopped his shrieking, now bending almost impossibly as he tries to meet his creator's visor.

The bass thrumming is heard again as Soundwave's helm tilts slightly further, as if urging the answer, and Spike stumbles over his words.

"I—Huh—Are you—I mean—That is—I'd rather—Isn't it—I don't—"

"Answer: Tactile overload."

The Cassette's visor flickers almost audibly before turning black, his blue body slumping in the Communications Officer's hold.

Without another word, the tape deck leans down to grab Frenzy and walk away.

The Coneheads sweep down, opening their cockpits to let Soundwave put one Cassette in each before transforming himself and jumping into the third, and they fly away.

"Spike, Sparkplug!" Both humans turn sharply to the approaching cloud of dust, Bumblebee, the twins and Jazz quickly transforming once they're close enough, the frontliners snarling after the vanishing jets. "Are you alright?"

"Yes…" The man answers, rubbing his face with a tired sigh. "I can't believe that really worked."

"Halfway." The teenager adds softly, shaking his shock off. "Guys?" All Autobots minus the saboteur turn to him, the Porsche touching his helm in answer to an unheard communication. "What is tactile overloading?"

"Tactile overloading?" All four repeat, even the Head of Spec Ops turning to them with visor pale blue in surprise.

"Soundwave said he was going to do that with Starscream's wings."

Silence.

"Soundwave told you he was… going to overload Starscream by tactile interfacing with his wings." Jazz not-asks, mouth agape and optical band almost white as his helm tilts like the neck can't support the weight anymore.

The twins' fans roar to life as Bumblebee falls to the ground covering his audio receptors.

"_Jazz_!"

Both the Autobot and the humans jump in surprise at the bellow and, as one, turn to look at the nuclear plant and the colorful shapes in front of it.

Though, only four are standing, the rest either falling down or already sitting down, and there's a faint sound being carried over the distance, like pleading or shouting in horror…

Ratchet's murderous scowl isn't visible so far away, but Spike's sure the white light on his helm isn't a reflection of the sun.

"Oops."

* * *

**AN:** One more chapter, and early update 'cause I feel like it :D

Mixed chapter, yet again, and the plot-that-shouldn't-be keeps developing, the slagging thing... Oh well, what can I do but let it grow? 'Sides, it may be interesting to see where it goes...


	6. Things better left unsaid

Jazz is almost literally buried in datapads when the teenager enters his office, helm against the desk and only a soft mechanical whine echoing in the room, since his music collection has been requisitioned and all radio signals are jammed.

Spike feels a tinge of guilt at the saboteur's plight, even if he knows he's exaggerating in his defeated position, but, after all, if he hadn't asked what he did when the other was on the comm, the rest of the Autobots wouldn't have known and, consequently, there wouldn't have been any crashed processors for Ratchet to monitor.

Nevertheless, there's no other 'Bot the teenager can think about to get an answer out of, which is why he's come to the Third in Command's office, his father deciding to stay with Wheeljack and Perceptor to clear the incident from his head.

"Jazz?"

"Wha."

The human has to wince at the miserable tone of voice, and, for a second, he doubts it's an act. Forcing the saboteur to deal with all his paperwork without even an Energon break is bad, knowing how the mech is, but taking his music away is almost torture.

"I, huh, wanted to ask you something. But, if it's a bad moment…" A black servo waves negatively before gesturing for the teenager to approach.

When he gets to the feet of the chair, Jazz looks down with his visor a curious pale blue.

The boy smiles at that, letting himself be pulled on a cleared part of the table as the Head of Spec Ops pushes the pads into a messy pile.

"Shoot, Spike. Anything to distract me from _this_." The mech answers with a human-like grimace as he gestures vaguely towards the datapads, something the Autobots sometimes do as a show of exaggeration.

"I still don't know what tactile overloading is. Or how it could be used on Starscream's wings."

Silence.

And then, a high-performance engine rumbles in amusement as the saboteur grins widely.

"Ah, that's right. Well, m'dear Spike, a tactile overload happens during tactile interfacing. An overload is a release of a powerful wave of energy that usually accumulates during the interface, and it's something that makes you feel really, _really_ nice." Jazz's smirk widens almost shark-like, but falls silent.

Confused and a bit unnerved by the sight, the teenager ponders the words, trying to remember when he has heard the word 'interface' before, and how it being tactile could lead to a rush of… of feeling… _nice_…

Not knowing if he should pale or blush, and remembering a shuddering medic as he consulted a certain word, the boy looks up at the still Cheshire Cat-like grinning Autobot.

"Interfacing… is it like… sex?" He squeaks, and, to his confusion, the smirk vanishes as the clear visor darkens.

And then, Jazz straightens with a yelp and a full body shudder.

"_Primus_! What the Pit is _that_!" Startled by the mech's reaction, the teenager takes a couple of steps back as the saboteur shakes his helm almost violently. "_That_ is organic interfacing? It's _gross_! And how does that cable—_No_, enough! I don't want to know!" He shouts, covering his helm with his servos and hunching down, visor completely black.

Silence.

"Jazz?"

No answer.

Fearing he's managed to get another mech to crash—again—the boy cautiously approaches and taps a forearm plate.

The Autobot almost jumps out of his chair at the touch, visor flashing pale blue before focusing on the human.

"Oh. Sorry. I was quarantining certain data files." The saboteur answers with a grimace and yet another shudder, but calms down after that. "Now, how do I explain this…" He grumbles, tapping the side of his helm almost absentmindedly. "There are three different ways of interfacing, mainly, and they can happen at the same time, if it's wanted. But the basis of all interface is make yourself and the other Cybertronian, or Cybertronians, feel good and overload. It has _no relation_ to creation, it just exists for the purpose of overloading. Kinda." The mech lets out a harsh burst of air with a small scowl, leaning back on his seat with his visor darkening. "Though I guess it has some semblance to your 'sex'—" The shudder is loud with the clinking of plating, and Spike frowns in confusion. "—in the human way of giving and receiving pleasure just for the sake of it." He adds in a mutter, as if reluctant to admit both processes have anything similar.

Nevertheless, despite the saboteur's view on things, his words are more than enough to let the boy finally realize what interfacing is and, consequently, what the equivalent of the overload that happens during it and makes one feel good is.

"Al… right… I think I get it now." He answers awkwardly, fumbling a bit on his feet.

"Good. Now, tactile interfacing is when there's no hardline connection between the participants, only the servos being used. Or the glossa. Or the—"

"Jazz!" The teenager cuts with a squeak, mortified, and the Autobot gives him another shark-sized grin.

"Glad to see you get it." He answers cheerfully, and Spike covers his face with his hands, muffling a groan.

Of all the mechs to ask about 'Cybertronian sex', he had to find the one with no shame.

"About your second question…" The boy's eyes widen as he quickly looks at the saboteur, a pensive expression on his faceplate. "I'm sure Soundwave was messing with us."

That… is not what he was expecting.

"Huh?"

"Think about it. They denied rather vehemently any kind of relationship between themselves, so why would Soundwave say he was going to interface with Starscream, even if it's tactile? The answer would be to have all the crashes and processor-scarring that happened, happen. Which means he was using you as a piece of his psychological warfare."

_"Human: Would make a fine Decepticon."_

Spike grimaces exaggeratedly, almost gagging at the thought and shivering a bit, feeling kind of dirty.

"Just. _Great_." He spits, rubbing his arms as if that could help get rid of the feeling, and Jazz watches with amusement clear on his faceplate and pale visor.

"You're a funny being." The Autobot receives a deadpanned look at that, but just snickers with a soft rev in answer. "Though, you know, now I'm curious." Stopping in his tracks, the boy carefully looks up at the saboteur, who is, effectively, looking up at the ceiling with his visor a pale blue that he's learned to recognize as curiosity. "Seeker wings are said to be really sensitive, but I've never seen any of the 'Cons react like they should in situations where…" The Head of Spec Ops straightens so suddenly on his seat that the human jumps a bit in surprise, immediately taking a step back at the too wide smile of realization. "Duh, of course!" And then, he presses a couple of dactyls against the side of his helm and chirps something in the comm.

A couple seconds later, Jazz's smile seem to widen even more, impossibly as that looks like, and turns to Spike.

"Take a seat, my friend. We're going to have a nice long conversation about wings." He tells the boy cheerfully, and the teenager instinctively looks at the edge of the table, trying to calculate if he would be able to jump down without breaking a limb.

Before he has a chance to think his escape plan further, the door opens and Smokescreen enters with a curious look.

"Hey there, guys. What'd you want me here for, Jazz?" The red and blue Autobot asks as he sits on the edge of the desk, looking between the human and the still madly grinning saboteur.

"Spike here asked a couple of questions about interfacing, and I seem to have trouble answering one of them." The Head of Spec Ops answers easily, and blue optics reboot in surprise.

"And you called me here instead of just asking? What, are you thinking about giving a practical demonstration?" The teenager squeaks and steps back, stumbling with his own feet and falling on his rear.

Jazz bursts out laughing.

"No, no. Pit, I don't think Spike's processor could stand that." He manages to answer after calming his laughter, and Smokescreen looks almost disappointed.

The teenager shakes his head and decides he's just imagined the look.

"Nah, I just wanted some data on Seekers."

"Seekers?" The doorwinger repeats, startled, as he turns on the table to fully stare at the other mech, leaning forward a bit. "What kind of information would you want about Seekers that _I_ could have? Surely you know more than I do."

The saboteur opens his mouth to retort—

And closes it with a calculating look.

"Well, it isn't as if I could ask Bluestreak." He muses, almost to himself, and the Praxian's doorwings twitch.

"How about Prowl?"

Silence.

And then, both Autobots shudder with grimaces on their faceplates.

"Yeah, right. I didn't say anything. But…" The almost pained look turns pensive as Smokescreen looks at the wall.

"Not Prowl." Jazz cuts quickly, glaring at the other mech, and is nonchalantly dismissed by a wave of a servo.

"No, not Prowl. But maybe Skyfire?" They exchange a look, silent for a couple of seconds, before both nod in unison. "Yeah, Skyfire it is." The red and blue Autobot answers himself as his optics dim in the tell-tale sign of talking through a comm line.

"Why can't you ask Prowl about Seekers?" Spike asks Jazz, calmer at last and curious once more, and the saboteur gives him a blank look.

"'Cause he wouldn't answer. And then, he would want to know the reason why we were asking about them, and that would… To put it mildly, it's not a good idea." Frowning at the vague, almost useless, answer, the teenager looks away.

What are the Autobots hiding?

"Hey, Spike, what's that face for?" The red and blue mech asks, poking him softly with a dactyl, and the boy looks up.

"Why can't you ask Prowl about Seekers?"

Silence.

"Spike, I've told you—"

"I'm asking Smokescreen." He cuts the saboteur and, to the teenager's hidden surprise, the Head of Spec Ops stays silent.

"Well, he wouldn't answer, so it's kind of a loss of time to ask." The Praxian answers easily, doorwings twitching in the equivalent of a shrug.

"And the other reason?"

Silence.

The two Autobots exchange an unreadable look, and the boy scowls.

"Lets just say that the war has hurt every bot." Jazz finally whispers, visor dark, as Smokescreen looks away, doorwings lowering.

Perfect. Now Spike feels bad for asking.

Fortunately—or unfortunately, because now he can't apologize—there's a soft chime before the door opens, Skyfire's gigantic body hiding the corridor.

"Just the mech we wanted to see! Come on in, big buddy." The saboteur welcomes warmly, gesturing for the shuttle to enter.

A quick look shows Smokescreen looking as cheerful as ever, but that doesn't ease the teenager's guilt.

"How can I help you?" The flier asks calmly, letting the door close behind him as he takes a seat on one of the big and extra reinforced chairs that are in every office.

"Spike asked something and we found ourselves without answers, so we thought maybe you could help. Is about the sensitivity of Seeker wings." The Head of Spec Ops explains calmly, and, surprised, Skyfire turns to look at the doorwinger, who gives him a sheepish smile.

"Went to Iacon as soon as I could." Is the Praxian's answer, which seems to be enough for the shuttle as he nods.

"Alright. Well, all Flier's wings are sensitive, since we need to feel our surroundings clearly to fly. Since Seekers are the fastest of us, their sensors aren't just more numerous, but also with a higher sensitivity to be able to detect even the smallest of changes in time for them to react." The scientist explains calmly and, making himself comfortable on the table, the human nods in understanding. "Now, wouldn't this question be somehow related to Soundwave's joke?"

Spike snickers at the abashed look on the other two Autobots and the knowing small smirk on Skyfire's lips.

Until he realizes a tiny detail of the question's wording.

"Joke?" He repeats, looking at the shuttle, who gives him a smile and nods.

"Yes. As I've said, Seeker wings are really sensitive, so they don't let anybot get close to them just that easily. Besides, reaching for a Cybertronian's wings without consent is something that never happens." And that sounds like a certainty, like a Law of the Universe.

Like the concept of even lifting a hand too close to a wing—or doorwing, because Skyfire said Cybertronian, not Flier—is a physical impossibility.

"Why?"

The three mechs look at each other with pensive frowns, and Smokescreen's doorwings twitch before pressing to his back.

"Well, it's kind of an unspoken law, you may say." The red and blue Autobot answers, looking down, as the appendages on his back lift and lower with soft twitches. "Trying to mess with wings, any kind of them, is asking to get hurt."

Still slightly confused, though realizing that he's never seen any Autobot even step close to a wing or doorwing, Spike nods.

"It's something more cultural, then?" The three mechs nod with relief, glad that their human friend has understood. "Then, why did Frenzy and Rumble crash? And the others?"

Skyfire's powerful engine rumbles in laughter as the two ground-bound Cybertronian's fans come to life.

"Because if that was the truth, do you know the level of trust Starscream and Soundwave would share? And if they trusted each other enough to let Soundwave play with Starscream's wings, what else wouldn't they do?" The shuttle answers with a wide smirk and glinting blue optics that, somehow, remind the teenager of the Decepticon Second in Command.

Jazz's visor darkens to what can only be describe as a sultry azure as Smokescreen's dorwings shiver in apparent delight.

"Now, come Spike. You need to see Wheeljack and Sparkplug's new invention." The Flier adds almost cheerfully, standing up and letting the human climb on his hand before exiting the office.

"I don't want to know what they were thinking, do I."

Skyfire's rumbling engine just grows louder in laughter.

* * *

To say Spike's surprised would be an understatement, and his gobsmacked expression makes it all the more clear as he stares at the small—for a Cybertronian—square device in front of him, each of it's sides as wide as the teenager's back.

"You're trying to make a null-ray." He finally manages to repeat, looking at his father and the two Autobot scientists around the worktable, the shuttle smiling with amusement as he looks over some flasks filled with colorful liquids on another.

"Yes. That's supposed to be the power converter, the piece that allows the shot to disrupt the energy flow and paralyze a machine or a Cybertronian without permanently damaging them, though we haven't quite managed that yet." Wheeljack explains, looking sheepish. "We've only managed to blow the test subjects up." He adds, pointing to a pile of blackened parts that the boy can't even begin to recognize.

"You're trying to make a null-ray." He repeats again, firmer this time, after a shake of his head, turning to look at the amused Flier tinkering with his chemicals. "And you're not helping?"

The only sound in the room is the humans' own breathing, before the shuttle turns his optics offline while putting the flasks down.

"No, I'm not helping. And I'm not going to." He finally answers, as calm as always, but still not looking at anything.

"Why?"

"Because this is a glitch-fated endeavor. No matter what they try, they won't be able to create a successful null-ray. So, I'd rather busy myself with things that have better odds of working out than zero percent." Confused by those words, and even more so by the nonchalant tone of the shuttle, the boy turns to the other two Autobots.

Wheeljack's helm-fins flash a dark blue in defeat as Perceptor stares intensely at their fellow scientist's back.

When he sees the microscope's reaction, the inventor gestures for the humans to step away as he reaches for a red shoulder.

"Perceptor, don't—"

"That's what he always says, Wheeljack. Always the same, that it's no use trying, only _Starscream_ could pull that out." The usually calm mech scoffs, and the humans exchange a look.

Skyfire doesn't move, but the white and green Autobot steps between them nevertheless.

"Perceptor, we've been over this. If he doesn't want to help, that's his decision. We will just keep trying, and he can take care of whatever else comes up. It's a win-win situation, really, since we won't be distracted by other projects—"

"It is _not_ a 'win-win situation', if one of the only two mechs who know the schematics refuses to share them. Tell us, Skyfire, is it so wrong for the Autobots to be in possession of a non-lethal weapon?"

Wheeljack groans as he steps away, going to the Witwicky's side, as the shuttle's wings tremble softly.

"Here we go again." The Lancia mutters almost inaudibly, his optics turning black as he lets his helm hang down in something similar to defeat.

"It isn't wrong." The Flier answers almost casually, not moving. "It's just that this specific weapon is out of your reach."

"Oh, it's 'our' reach now? Then, what is the brand on your chest plates for?"

The silence that blankets the lab is filled with tension and, chancing a look at the white and green Autobot, Spike sees his optics a blue almost as pale as that of his head-fins, signifying surprise.

Slowly, Skyfire straightens, and, to their utter astonishment, there's a soft sound like that of transformation coming from him.

The teenager lets out a muted 'oof' as a servo clenches shut around his torso, the world moving crazily for a second before he realizes Wheeljack has grabbed both humans and moved to stand next to the still closed door, his whole body trembling as the shuttle turns around.

Spike has to blink a couple of times and shake his head before realizing that no, he's not seeing things, Skyfire's wings are _really_ moving.

And to a threatening position, to boot.

Judging by the inventor's reaction, he thinks the same, as they are all unable to look away from the white and red planes hitching higher on the shuttle's back and fanning wide open, like a bird opening its wings to make itself look larger.

Perceptor takes a step back and hunches down a bit, body tense and not looking so calm and confident anymore.

In fact, he looks almost scared as he looks at his surroundings.

"The brand on my chest marks me as an Autobot, Perceptor. It doesn't mean I'm _stupid_." There's a soft thrumming filling the room, and it's so much like the shuttle's rumbling laughter but so menacing and dark that it's hard to believe it comes from the large mech's engines. "The null-rays are Starscream's _custom-made_ weapons, so carefully built to fit _his_ frame, that unless you have a way to clone Starscream—_all_ of him—you won't be able to do more than wish for the impossible."

Wheeljack hurriedly steps away from the door as Skyfire approaches, not looking up at the shuttle as he walks out of the room, bending slightly and turning sideways to avoid knocking his still lifted wings against the door frame.

The soft clicking of the door shutting finally snaps Perceptor out of his tense posture, and, shakily the microscope sits down on the first available chair.

Carefully, the white and green Autobot approaches his fellow scientist, softly letting the humans back on the table before clasping a red shoulder reassuringly.

"I think it will be better to drop the project for a bit."

"I think it will be better to drop it completely." Perceptor hunches down with a tired sigh, pressing a servo against the side of his helm. "Did you hear what he said?"

"… Yes." Wheeljack's servo falls to his side, his darkened optics landing on the device still on the worktable. "And bots say _I_ am the crazy scientist. That Seeker is either completely glitched or one of the biggest genius ever to have managed _that_."

"I'm going to borrow a human expression, and say he's both." The Lancia lets out a huffed burst of air in a snort, but even for such a mechanical sound, there's no humor in it.

"Why?" Spike asks softly after a couple seconds of silence, but none of the Autobots look at him.

"Because if what Skyfire implied is true, Starscream's null-rays are linked to his spark." Perceptor answers in defeat, optics going offline, as Wheeljack turns back to the Witwicky.

"To make a comparison, it would be like a human powering their car by pedaling. It could be done for a bit, but… well, they would tire, and when someone, either Cybertronian or human, gets tired enough…" The inventor shakes his helm in a negative, and the teenager pales.

"Then, why didn't Skyfire tell you that from the beginning?"

Both scientist exchange an indecipherable look.

"Trust issues." Wheeljack finally answers before helping them down the table and accompanying them to the door.

When it closes, the humans in the corridor and the Autobots in the lab, father and son look at each other with confusion and a hint of dread.

There are many ways they could take that answer as, but none of them is reassuring.

* * *

**AN:** Another mixed chapter, and the psychological warfare is on! Poor Spike, playing bullet between the factions... Kind of reminds me of table tennis.

I apologize for the OOC-ness in this chapter, but I couldn't do anything to avoid it.

For each question answered, more pop up. More Q&amp;A next chapter, with explanations for some of the things in this one.


	7. The Thirteen

The Rec Room is as boisterous as ever when the two humans finally get to it, though it does nothing to alleviate their confusion.

Skyfire's words, and his actions, still have their brains reeling.

Spike considers asking Red Alert if he can pinpoint Starscream's location next the Seeker is out of the _Nemesis_, and try to convince one of the Autobots to help the boy find the jet.

After all, Starscream was the one to tell him to ask.

Though he can ask the Shuttle himself, the teenager doesn't feel confident, nor does he know where he is.

And the other two scientists have literally closed the door on their faces.

So, Spike looks around the Rec Room and finds someone else to get answers from.

Perhaps it's not the brightest move, taking into account the mech and certain situations he's been in, but if someone can explain about 'trust issues' it's a Spec Ops agent.

Thus, the teenager stops by the blue and white pedes and looks up at the slightly curious blue optics observing him over the rim of a half-filled Energon cube.

"Hey, Mirage, can I ask you a question?"

After a second of thought, the spy puts his cube on the table and reaches for the two humans, gently depositing them on the table.

"I don't see why not." He answers calmly, crossing his servos on the table almost business-like.

"Well, we were in the lab when Perceptor and Skyfire started… not fighting, but it was a nasty discussion." Blue optics pale slightly in interest and curiosity, and the boy looks down, trying to find his next words without insulting the mech.

"They were working in a null-ray, but Skyfire didn't want to help." His father interjects, patting the younger's shoulder reassuringly. "There were some… nasty things said—" Mirage's optics flash, and what was curiosity turns into a stony emotionless look. "—and Skyfire said that only Starscream could make the null-rays work, because they're connected to his spark." The Ligier's engine hiccups as he gapes for a second before he recomposes himself.

"When we asked why Skyfire hadn't said so from the start, Wheeljack said it was because of trust issues. Do you know what that means?"

"You're asking _Mirage_ what 'trust issues' are? Please!" All eyes and optics turn to Cliffjumper, who is smirking at them with his arms crossed against his chest. "If you want to know something about trust, there are a lot of better mechs to ask."

"Like you?" The noble asks with light amusement, and the Minibot straightens almost proudly.

"Of course! Who has the most trust issues in the Autobot army?" The humans laugh lightly as the red mech takes a step next to the Spec Ops agent, looking down at them with curiosity. "Now, jokes aside. What are you talking about?"

"I'm not sure they should tell you." Mirage cuts in, voice and expression serious, holding a servo up to stop the Witwicky. "Unless I have misunderstood what you just explained, the reason that information wasn't divulged would be due to a promise between Skyfire and Starscream, rather than Skyfire not trusting the Autobots." He adds calmly, and, to Spike's surprise, Cliffjumper looks more pensive than angry at knowing the Shuttle kept something about their enemy to himself.

"Slagging Fliers." The Minibot grumbles almost darkly before looking at the Spec Ops agent. "Guess they told you what that information is, huh?"

"They did. So, I have to ask you keep this knowledge to yourselves." The Ligier answers, turning to the humans. "That is something for Skyfire and Starscream to tell, not the rest of us. As impossible as such a thing sounds like."

"Hey, it's The Screaming One you're talking about. I'm starting to think the slagger can't deactivate, with how many times Buckethead has hammered him into scrap metal." The red mech answers easily, his engine revving softly in a snort. "Only Primus could keep counting."

The noble doesn't snort, but the way he hides behind his cube to take a sip of Energon tells Spike he's hiding his own grin, though surely not as big nor sharp as Cliffjumper's.

"Now, did you say there was dissent among the scientists?" Mirage asks calmly after putting his cube down and, curious, the Minibot takes a seat next to the white and blue mech to listen to the humans.

"I'm surprised you understood the insults."

"They weren't really insulting each other." The teenager answers with a smirk before it vanishes. "Kind of. Since Skyfire didn't want to reveal… that information about Starscream, Perceptor said, well… he may have implied Skyfire wasn't really on the Autobot side." Regardless of their status in Cybertron, the flash of blue optics and the astonished expressions are the same on both mechs. "And man, was Skyfire pissed… Wheeljack grabbed us and almost ran out the door when his wings started moving!"

"His wings _moved_?!" Both Autobots exclaim in unison, the stunned flash of blue forcing Spike to blink blotches of light away for a couple of seconds.

And then, he realizes the Rec Room is silent.

A quick look around reveals that all mechs, despite there being not too many of them, are looking at their table with confusion and curiosity.

"Whose wings moved?" Brawn asks, and Spike suddenly feels very nervous and self-conscious.

"Skyfire's."

Curiosity and confusion turn to loaded silence, charged with something the boy can't identify between fear and dread…

"Oh, _slag_." And, with those two words, Cliffjumper summarizes the feelings in the room. "A torqued Skyfire whose wings _moved_. What did you say Perceptor said _exactly_?"

"Uh, something like… why do you have that brand on your chest…"

"What is the brand on your chest plates for." Sparkplug adds calmly, and clinking of Cybertronian shivers fill the room.

"Nice one, Perceptor." The Minibot groans, softly shaking his helm.

"I didn't know Skyfire's wings could move." Spike comments after a second, trying to change the topic.

"All wings can move." Mirage answers, sipping from his Energon once more, though visibly more relaxed. "Doorwings and Fliers' wings. It's just that Flier's keep theirs locked to lower their sensitivity when on the ground."

"Because they're sensitive enough to notice change in air currents and the like." The teenager adds, remembering the Shuttle's words in Jazz's office, and the Spec Ops agent nods.

"Doorwings are almost as sensitive, but their sensory suits are more easily controlled, so they don't have a locking mechanism. Wings are also used as a method of communication, so Fliers keep them unlocked at times when on the ground, though not in the presence of Ground-bound Cybertronian."

"Unless, as you saw, they are really torqued or want to make a point." Cliffjumper adds, the rest of Autobots in the room minding their own business once more. "That's when coding overwhelms the processor, and they act before they can check themselves."

The humans nod as a sign of understanding, and Mirage stands up.

"If you will excuse me, my shift is about to begin. Have a nice day." And, followed by the Witwicky's farewells, the Ligier walks out of the Rec Room after disposing of his empty cube in a recycling machine.

"Nice situation to learn about wings. First that _thing_ at the battlefield and now the stunt in the labs. I'm starting to think you do it on purpose." The Minibot's blue optics darken as he leans forward, a suspicious look on his faceplate, and Spike can't help but think of Soundwave's words once more.

_"Human: Would make a fine Decepticon."_

"If you guys told me about those things, we wouldn't find ourselves in this situations!" He retorts with a grimace, and, after a couple of seconds of silence, the red mech straightens with a pensive look.

"Well, that's right. Guess Ratchet hasn't been doing that great of a job." He muses to himself and, with a gesture for the humans to stay put, he stands up.

After retrieving a cube of Energon from the dispenser, the Minibot sits down once more, still deep in thought.

"I'm not the best at those things, but if _I_ am the one to tell you, at least I'll know what you're learning." He finally says, taking a big gulp of his drink before moving to a more comfortable seating position. "Alright. Do you know about the creation of the Cybertronian?" Both males nod, for the teenager told the story of Primus and his robots to his father as soon as he got home. "So, you know about the Thirteen Primes?"

"_Thirteen_ what? Are they Optimus' family?"

Cliffjumper's engine roars in a bark of laughter, and Spike can feel some more bright optics turn to them.

"'Prime' is a title. It means they're the Chosen of Primus to lead the Senate, and, as thus, Cybertron. The Thirteen, or Thirteen Primes, were the first Cybertronian, those Primus created and taught himself, and the ones who guided Cybertron to rise as the most powerful and advanced world in unaccountable galaxies."

Spike's mouth falls open, though not so much at the words than at the pride and joy in Cliffjumper's face.

_Cliffjumper_. Smiling.

Eery…

"A title. Got it." Is the only thing he can answer, still stunned at the uncharacteristic look of almost fatherly pride in the Minibot's face, who seems to calm down when he hears the boy.

"Alright. The Thirteen were also the first of every existing frame type, and from them were created all the others in their image, with changes brought about by each individual that, with time, became different models." Movement catches the teenager's attention, and, with a look around, he finds all optics in the room turned to them, listening almost enthralled.

The red mech just straightens at the attention.

"The First, and the one who was eventually bestowed the Matrix—"

"The what?" Snickers fill the room at Cliffjumper's scowl when the boy interrupts him, so Spike gives him a sheepish smile.

"The Matrix of Leadership. It contains the knowledge of all previous Primes and is the last gift of Primus to the Thirteen. Only a Prime can carry it." Gears answers grumpily from where he's sitting with some other Minibots, and nods and soft words in agreement follow.

The teenager remembers Ratchet telling about a powerful object given to the leader of the first robots, containing the part of Primus' spark that didn't become Cybertron's core, and quickly realizes that they're talking about the same.

"Yes, that. Now, as I was saying, the First, and the one who was eventually bestowed the Matrix, was Prima, the Road Runner, also known as the Embodiment of Light, for his speed was so great and his color scheme so pale that he seemed but a ray of light as he drove." Cheers erupt from the twins, sitting in front of the Cybertronian-sized console and the paused game onscreen.

"The Second was Vector, the Shuttle, also known as the Guardian of Space and Time, for his was the ability to traverse the void of space and visit any world he so wished, entering in other spaces and times unknown to Cybertronian." Sideswipe continues after he realizes they have the room's attention, a big and snobbish grin on his faceplate.

"The Third was Alpha, the Chaser, also known as the Knowledge Keeper, for his was the ability to roam areas impassable to others and find truth where others couldn't reach, taking it with him to share, for he always found his way back." Sunstreaker adds with an even more arrogant look, not paying attention to the soft whispers among the rest of Autobots.

"Why are you talking like that?" Sparkplug asks before someone else can pick up the curiously structured descriptions, turning to an annoyed-looking Cliffjumper that's glaring holes into the twins.

"'Cause that's how everyone knows it." He answers nonchalantly, not looking at the humans, who exchange an 'oh well' look and a shrug.

Sounds like the multiplication rules the boy had to learn in school—and that he can still hear bouncing in his brain in that sing-song cadence their teacher used.

"So, the first was…"

"Prima."

"Prima, who was the same frame type as Sideswipe and Sunstreaker." All Autobots nod, with the twins glowing under the glare Cliffjumper is still giving them. "Then, a Shuttle…"

"Vector." The Minibot supplies in a soft growl, just as before, and Spike takes out his small notebook and pen and starts writing.

"Prima the… Road Runner?" A nod, and the boy quickly writes it down next to the name and the number one, adding an arrow before putting 'twins' after it. "Then, Vector the Shuttle. And the third?"

"Alpha, the Chaser, also known as the Knowledge Keeper, for his was the ability to roam areas impassable to others and find truth where others couldn't reach, taking it with him to share, for he always found his way back." The whole room seems to recite in unison, and Spike feels awe and wonder fill him, as well as amusement at the thought that they sound like a class of kids.

"Wait, Knowledge Keeper?" He repeats, writing it awkwardly next to Alpha's name. "What were Prima and Vector's titles?"

"Prima was the Embodiment of Light, and Vector, the Guardian of Space and Time." And, no sooner has he written it down, the teenager realizes it isn't enough.

So, wiping the frown from his face, he turns to a blank page and looks up at Cliffjumper, who has finally turned to look at the humans in curiosity, with a big smile.

"Mind repeating from the very beginning? I want to write it down."

Whatever he was expecting, it wasn't the Minibot's—and the rest of the present Autobots'—to beam brightly at the humans.

"Alright. I'll go slower." The teenager nods before turning all his attention to his notebook. "The First, and the one who was eventually bestowed the Matrix, was Prima, the Road Runner, also known as the Embodiment of Light, for his speed was so great and his color scheme so pale that he seemed but a ray of light as he drove." Cliffjumper falls silent, letting Spike finish writing and nod before continuing. "The Second was Vector, the Shuttle, also known as the Guardian of Space and Time, for his was the ability to traverse the void of space and visit any world he so wished, entering in other spaces and times unknown to Cybertronian."

"… unknown to Cybertronian." The boy repeats softly, his smile growing as he moves the pen to a new line.

"The Third was Alpha, the Chaser, also known as the Knowledge Keeper, for his was the ability to roam areas impassable to others and find truth where others couldn't reach, taking it with him to share, for he always found his way back." The teenager startles a bit at Hoist's voice, not having realized he's joined them on their table, but manages to write it down before looking up. "Now, you haven't seen a Chaser, since there wasn't any in the _Ark_, but if you were to compare one with a Road Runner, it would be like comparing a motorcycle to a car."

Spike ponders that for some seconds before returning to the previous page and writing a new line.

_3: Alpha – Chaser → Motorcycle_

"Alright. Who was the fourth?" He asks with a wide smile, once more returning to where he's writing down the story.

Or, more accurately, _history._

"The Fourth was Solus, the Femme, also known as the Artificer, for hers was the ability to develop and build what others thought impossible, and her nimbleness and hidden strength was her major asset."

"Solus, the Femme… Hey, that's the frame type your language packages think is feminine. Hound said it was a mistake." Soft murmurs along incredulous faces fill the room, and Spike snickers when he realizes the Autobots have just noticed that little detail with gender now that he's pointed it out.

"Slag, that's right." The red Minibot reboots his optics a couple of times in surprise, and the teenager laughs softly at his dumbfounded expression. "Didn't even notice when I spoke out loud."

"No problem, I'll just change a couple things and no big deal." The human answers with a wave of his hand, scratching the 's' on 'she' and changing 'her' for 'his'. "Done. I guess you have no Femmes here either, do you?" Hoist shakes his head with a smile, sipping form his cube.

"Maybe we can show you schematics from each main frame type later." The boy nods with a grateful smile before turning to Cliffjumper—

Who has straightened and looks almost as pompous as the twins did when talking about Prima, gesturing for the boy to turn his attention back to his notebook.

Curious and a bit confused, Spike obeys, readying himself for another paragraph.

"The Fifth was Micronus, the Minibot, also known as the Enhancer, for his small frame was a deceitful container for his strong spark and indomitable will, and never once turned he his back to those he was loyal to." The red mech recites proudly and, halfway through his copying, the teenager smirks, realizing the reason for the snobby attitude.

But, when he turns to his 'cheat chart', Spike stops and frowns softly.

"Huh, Cliffjumper? Which would be the 'standard' model of Minibot?" He asks, remembering that Hound told him there were a lot of different models, as he's witness to in his Autobot friends.

"Why, mine, of course." The red mech answers with a wide smirk, and the teenager snickers when he hears Gears and Huffer start to grumble.

"Yours and Bumblebee's, right?" Cliffjumper nods, still sitting pompously and without care for the optics drilling into him.

"Look at the midget, so proud. Please, it isn't as if there's been a _real_ Minibot Prime." Sunstreaker scoffs, and the red mech's high and mighty attitude turns downright menacing as he glares at the golden frontliner, threatening growl included.

Fortunately, Hoist grabs the smaller Autobot's arm in case he was thinking of jumping the twins.

Which, judging from his snarl, he was.

"Now, now, calm down. We're teaching Spike and Sparkplug about the Thirteen, not arguing about the lines of Matrix-bearing Primes. So please, leave your arguments for another time, or I'll be forced to call Prowl."

The tension doesn't immediately vanish, but, after about a minute or two, the Minibot turns around to pay attention to the humans once more.

"Slagging Road Runners, always thinking themselves better because of Prima. Micronus wasn't called a _Prime_ just because, what kind of glitch do their processors—"

The medic's engine rumbles softly, and the red mech's grumbles die with a scowl.

"Ready for more, Spike?" Hoist asks after a soft shake of his helm and, deciding not to irk the hot-tempered Autobot further, the boy nods and turns back to his notebook. "The Sixth was Alchemist, the Builder, also known as the Wielder of Worlds, for his was the ability to recognize all elements and materials in existence and manipulate them to give form to that which would aid those in need."

"Builder. Is that your frame type?" He asks the green mech, who revs his engine softly in what would be chuckling.

"No, it isn't. It's Grapple's, and the Constructicons'. Though none of them are anything like the 'standard' Builders, if you want to call them so. During the Golden Age, they were all reconfigured into more specific jobs, even if Alchemist was supposed to be able to take different positions instead of only one." He explains calmly, and, although mildly confused as for the reasons for this specifying, Spike nods.

"Alright. The next?" He asks, once more turning to his notebook, and this time it's Cliffjumper who answers.

"The Seventh was Nexus, the Triple Changer, also known as the Enigma of Combination, for his was the ability to roam both air and ground, with the nobility and power of three to strengthen his unbreakable desire to help." Various engine-snorts and mocking laughter fill the room, and the teenager can't finish writing fast enough to look up in an effort to understand their reactions.

He needn't have worried.

"Nobility, as if! Triple Changers are nothing more than brutes and warmechs." Huffer scoffs, and, to the humans' astonishment, others nod in agreement.

"Decepticon scum." Someone else grumbles, though this time there are some voices raised against those words.

"Hey, don't put them all in there! Some Triple Changers are Autobots."

"Oh, yeah? Like who?"

"That big blue and black Tread Roller-Air Weapon?"

"The one from Straxus? That could have been a 'Con for all he did!"

"And how about Omega Supreme?"

"One good among how many millions? They're all fragging 'Cons! Omega's a 'Bot 'cause of the Senate!"

As the argument—or swapping of insults and scoffs, to be more accurate—continues, Spike turns to Hoist with a pleading look.

The green mech's blue visor darkens at the look, but he doesn't say anything.

"Hey! Keep quiet, would you? We're trying to teach Spike and Sparkplug, and they haven't heard the whole story yet." Cliffjumper exclaims, silencing the rest of Autobots, before turning to the humans. "The Thirteen were Primes. They were right, and nothing like the 'Cons. Unfortunately, those who followed were _nothing_ like them." He adds with a scowl, and murmurs of agreement follow his words. "Though there were some that shouldn't have been Primes. Keep writing." The teenager startles at that but, slowly, he turns back to his notebook, not knowing what to expect next. "The Eighth was Onyx, the Seeker, also known as the Three-Faced, for his was the most energetic spark and fastest processor, to enhance his ability to find that which was hidden, and to always return with what was needed."

Spike doesn't need to look up to know they're all scowling and snarling, nor does he need to ask for the reason.

All Seekers are Decepticons and, from what little he knows, they're the reason Megatron got as far as he did.

"Who was the ninth?" Sparkplug asks calmly, easily heard despite the engine growls starting to fill the room, so the boy gives him a grateful look.

It takes some seconds, but the Autobots seem to calm down as they push memories away.

"The Ninth was Amalgamous, the Doorwinger, also known as the Shifter, for his was the speed of Prima and the sensitivity of Onyx while being none but himself, and the ability to sooth sparks and calm processors."

"Prowl, Smokescreen and Bluestreak, right?" The teenager asks Hoist as soon as he finishes writing, and the medic nods. "When you say 'the sensitivity of Onyx', do you mean the doorwings?"

"Yeah, those things are almost more sensor-ladden than a medic's sevos." Cliffjumper answers gruffly, his engine rumbling somehow angrily before gesturing to the notebook. "Want to hear about the rest, or keep asking?"

"The rest. I can't start asking if I don't have all the information." He explains, remembering the two Decepticons that 'kidnapped' him so that they could teach him.

"Well put. Alright, the Tenth was Quintus, the Cassette Carrier, also known as the Life Giver, for his was the most active spark and the ability to synchronize systems with others to support sparks, processors and frames, as well as uncountable bonds." The Minibot answers, leaning against the back of his seat almost bored.

"Which would be Soundwave and Blaster."

"Only Blaster, actually." Startled, both humans turn to the softly smiling green mech. "Both are Cassette Carriers, but only Blaster is the standard model."

"But they look the same." Sparkplug questions without asking, looking confused.

"Not all differences are visible, some run code-deep."

After exchanging a look of realization, father and son nod.

"How about Cassettes?" The teenager asks, and Cliffjumper tenses even more in annoyance bordering anger.

"They're a model of Minibot." A look at the red mech is all Spike needs to know he would have better luck asking someone else, so he just nods, writes the new information in his chart, and turns expectantly to Hoist once he has turned to a new empty page to keep writing.

"The Eleventh was Liege, the Medic, also known as the Manipulator, for his was the ability to modify frames and processors to nurse and nurture and strengthen and heal, anchoring life to metal and giving metal life." The teenager doesn't even bother suppressing his chuckles at the pride in the green mech's voice. "And yes, that would be mine and Ratchet's frame type. There's no standard model, though, since Medics are so because of their inner workings and processors, not anything physical."

"I think I'm really going to go ask Ratchet that datapad he showed us before." His father muses out loud, and Spike nods eagerly.

"Datapad?" Cliffjumper asks, leaning forward a bit.

"One with different schematics of frame types and models." Hoist lets out a humming sound of understanding, and the Minibot turns a suspicious glare to him.

"It's a basic learning program for newspark Medics, though I can see it would be useful for them too. It's made to learn, after all." Placated by that answer, the red mech goes back to leaning against his seat, quickly looking at Spike and nodding to let him know he's about to keep explaining.

So, the boy turns his attention back to his notebook eagerly.

"The Twelfth was Megatronus, the Tread Roller, also known as the Impenetrable Darkness, for his was the thickest armor and the darkest color scheme and the most powerful weapons, which allowed him to defeat all that dared harm those he was sworn to protect."

It takes the teenager a bit of effort to keep writing without messing up the words, but as soon as he's done, he quickly looks up at the almost expectant Autobots.

They knew what his reaction would be.

"Yes, Megatron is a Tread Roller, and yes, he was designated after Megatronus, though no one knows if that was his original designation. And no, he's not a standard Tread Roller, that would be Warpath." Hoist answers easily before the human even has time to ask, and, after some seconds to assimilate that information, Spike turns to his cheat chart to write it down.

"But Megatron's a gun, and Warpath is a tank." Sparkplug points out curiously, and there's an almost impish smile on the medic's faceplate when the teenager looks up.

"They're a really varied frame type. Perceptor is a Tread Roller too." Stupefied, the Witwicky can only gap at him. "Lots of different models, but what you need to remember is to never mess up with them." A quick look around the room shows the rest of Autobots nodding in agreement.

Slowly, the humans put themselves back together.

"I _really_ need to learn about models." His father says, and Spike finds himself agreeing even though he's already readying himself to write about the last Prime.

"Let me guess, the Thirteenth is like Optimus. A Cargo?" The boy asks, and both Medic and Minibot nod before the red mech leans a bit forward.

"The Thirteenth was Maximum, the Cargo, also known as the Unifier, for his was the ability to bring closer that which needed be, whether it was through will or physical strength, and his spark was bright enough to act as a beacon that always guided his siblings home." The teenager has to scramble a bit to write it all, but, after filling his cheat chart with that last information, he looks back at it.

"That's oddly beautiful."

"You always say something about the others. To go back to them, to bring them back, to protect them…" Spike points out after sharing a rueful smile with his father.

"Because they were Primes, and that's how Primes are. They keep Cybertron unified, taken care of… without them, each frame type would go their own way, and we all know how _that_ ended like." Cliffjumper answers with a scoff before standing up. "Well, I've got a shift to get to. Try not to mess up what we've told you."

Spike rolls his eyes at that with a soft chuckle, but the Minibot doesn't stop, joining the others of his frame type before they all walk out of the Rec Room.

"Any questions, or shall I take you to the Repair Bay to let you play with the frame type-model datapad?" Hoist asks, and Spike takes a quick look at what he's written to make sure he really doesn't have questions—

And finds one.

"Why was Onyx called 'Three-Faced'?"

"Because the processor speed of Seekers allows them to think faster than other Cybertronian, and thus makes their moods change apparently at random, resulting in them seemingly having different personalities." The Medic answers calmly, and the boy just nods before writing 'mood swings' in his chart.

"I think that's all. Can we go to the Repair Bay now?" He asks hopefully, giving the Autobot his best puppy eyes, and Hoist laughs with a rumble of his engine as he helps them get down the table.

"Since you already know about frame types, I don't see why not." the green mech answers as he gestures to the door and, happily, the humans start to walk, looking over Spike's notes.

"This is going to be awesome." The teenager whispers, and laughter follows them as they leave the Rec Room.

* * *

**AN:** Sorry about the lack of update last week, but this chapter was a lot harder than I thought it'd be, taking into account I had all my HC ready and waiting to just be copied here. The characters (I'm looking at you, Cliffjumper) made things more difficult than I expected them to be.

Unfortunately, I can't promise an extra update to make up for the one I missed, since that's all I have written, so, if there is ever going to be a double update to make up for this, it won't be this week.

I used _Transformers: Prime_'s list of the Thirteen Primes as well as some of their titles and frames, but I adapted most of them and made up the history behind them. About models and which character is which, there are some obvious ones while I took liberties with others. Things will be explained further in the fic.


	8. Answers on the Road

When they enter the Repair Room, Ratchet doesn't even look at them, just points at one table and keeps working on whatever it is he's doing.

Hoist gives them a wink before helping them up, and, once they're released, the humans see a datapad raised against what looks like a book-rest, already online and showing a Newspark Protoform with a column of unknown writing on one side.

"Called ahead?" Spike asks with a smile, and the green mech returns the gesture.

"Of course. I wouldn't have wanted to be received with a wrench because I came in here with no malfunctions." The ambulance's engine growls menacingly, one optic peeking over a shoulder to glare at them, before turning back to his work.

"If I hear something not related to teaching the humans about models, I can solve that lack of malfunctions." Hoist's frame shivers with soft tingling before he quickly turns with an exaggerated grimace.

Recognizing the friendly bantering for what it is, the Witwicky chuckle.

"So… can we start?" Spike asks cheerfully, taking his notebook and pen and looking at the cheat chart of frame types.

"Whenever you are ready." The green medic answers, taking a seat next to the table, in close range of the pad. "Would you like to start with a certain model, or do I explain them as they come up?"

"How about we start with general characteristics of the frame type before explaining their models?" Sparkplug suggests, and his son nods eagerly as he opens a blank page and writes 'Road Runner' at the top.

"Fine by me. Shall we use the Common Structure, then?"

"What's that?" The teenager asks, and the medic chuckles.

"It's the most usual method of classification of frame types, as well as the official one. It follows the order of the Thirteen." Both humans nod, and Hoist taps the first row of symbols on the pad, which disappears to give way to another. "Alright. The first frame type would then be the Road Runners. They're Ground-bound Cybertronian of medium size, and include the fastest ground models. They are one of the most numerous frame type, and formed most of the Senate. Due to Prima, the first Prime, being a Road Runner, those with this frame type believe themselves higher in status than any other, which brought about their supremacy and usually high status during the Golden Age, with almost all in the Nobility being Road Runners."

"Ah, Hoist?" The Autobot's mouth shuts as he turns to the Witwicky, his visor a paler blue in curiosity. "I thought you were going to explain _physical_ characteristics, not cultural." The Medic reboots his visual band before smiling sheepishly.

"I apologize, but it's just that such things are deeply entwined, and thus difficult to put apart. I can try to stick to frames, though, if you would prefer it."

"No, no. We were just surprised, that's all." His father answers with an easy smile, waving a hand to tell the mech to relax. "Though I'm afraid I have some questions."

"So do I." The boy adds with a nod, and the Autobot's smile softens.

"Of course. Ask ahead."

"What is the Senate?"

Hoist's smile wavers and his visor turns a deeper blue, but he manages to keep it up.

"Was, actually. It is no more, thanks to the War."

"I may not support the methods, but I will say it was about slagging time." Spike jumps in surprise, having forgotten Ratchet was there, before he turns to the serious ambulance leaning against his worktable with his arms crossed against his chassis. "The Senate was the ultimate governing power on Cybertron. Originally, they were supposed to be formed by one representative of each frame type, and another from each City-State, but such a structure was only real in history pads, by the time I activated." His voice is dark, slightly growling, and the snarl on his faceplate is nothing like those the boy is used to seeing when the Medic deals with unruly patients.

This one is downright scary.

"As far as I know, it was decreed at the beginning of the Golden Age that only the representatives of the City-States were needed to conform the Senate, since frame types weren't restricted to a single one and thus it was useless to debate about what would be best for each of them without taking into consideration the environment of each and every Cybertronian. The problem came when the remaining representatives, somehow, slowly were replaced by Road Runners. They had always had the numbers and position, but to go as far as that…" The mostly white Autobot shakes his head, optics going black. "Inevitably, the Senate started to corrupt, even going as far as taking the Prime with them. By the time someone rose against them, the only solution was to get rid of the system and start anew."

"Megatron deactivated all of the Senate and decided to avoid such a system and corruption by becoming the only supreme ruler of Cybertron. 'Peace through tyranny'. That's his motto." The green mech adds softly, helm lowering to his tight fists.

"Optimus wanted to change that too. When he became Prime, he tried to reason with the Senate, but they couldn't be reasoned with anymore. Or, well. Megatron didn't give him more time to keep trying." Ratchet adds, plating twitching in a Cybertronian shrug.

A _nonchalant_ Cybertronian shrug.

"But that's in the past now. Next question?"

Spike opens his mouth just to close them again, not sure if the question he wants to ask will be welcomed now… but he'll never know if he doesn't at least try.

"Don't answer if you don't want to, but… what was the Golden Age?" To his relief, both Autobots relax, with the green one even giving him a small smile.

"It was a period in which Cybertron flourished. There were a lot of discoveries made and advancements the likes of which hadn't been recorded before. But it grew… stagnant, and it slowly came to an end."

"An explosive end that was seen coming vorns before, but the Senate only cared for themselves by then, and thus the Rebellion rose and hit. Hard. And Megatron was the one to walk away triumphant." Ratchet adds to Hoist's explanation, their calm having soured a bit, but the mood not being as angry and almost hateful as before.

"Right. You said Road Runners were medium size?" Sparkplug asks curiously, and both Medics return to the present with identical nods. "What would be 'medium size' for a Cybertronian?"

The ambulance lets out a snort-rev while the green mech's engine purrs in the equivalent of chuckling.

"There are two kinds of 'medium size', if you wish to get technical. 'Average size' applies to specific frame types, even to models sometimes, while 'medium size' is used when comparing frame types. Medium size would be a bit bigger than Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, but not too much." Hoist answers calmly before marking the first line of the new column.

The image of the Newspark Protoform changes, and the resulting Cybertronian is one that looks a lot like Red Alert.

"That would be the Road Runner model of the equally named frame type. The 'standard', if you wish to call it so."

"I thought you said the twins were the standard model." Spike comments with a small confused frown, looking up into the blue visor.

"They are. And Red Alert is too. Being of the same model doesn't mean they're all identical, there are differences between individuals." The green mech answers with a small amused smile, and Ratchet shakes his head with a bigger one before returning to his worktable.

"Right. My bad." The teenager chuckles, feeling his cheeks redden as his father pats his shoulder reassuringly, despite being softly laughing himself.

"Now this—" The Medic touches a couple of things and the pad goes back to showing the normal Newspark Protoform and the second column, of which he selects the fourth. "—is a Racer."

The image changes as Spike writes what has just been explained and the two names he knows now, along the given Autobot names next to the 'Road Runner' model.

So, when he looks up, he has the new form ready to be examined—and recognized.

"That looks a lot like Wheeljack." Sparkplug speaks first, while the boy marvels at the lack of face-mask and the Sunstreaker-like head-fins, though the body is distinctively the white scientist's.

"That would be because Wheeljack is a Racer. Their speed is slightly above Road Runner average, and their maneuverability is admirable. Their anti-gravs are also more powerful than the standard Road Runner's, so they can hover somewhat." Spike hurries to write that down under to the model name, before writing the scientist's name next to it.

"What about the standard Road Runner?"

"Fast, agile… there's not much that can be said without comparing them to others, which is why all models are describe in relation to the standard." Hoist answers easily and, since the boy already knows the twins and their capabilities, he just nods.

"Makes sense, I guess. Why does Wheeljack wear the face-mask and the fins?"

"The face-mask is because faceplates are slagging hard to fix, and I grew tired of dealing with that sort of thing after every explosion." Ratchet's grumpy voice cuts before the green mech can do more than open his mouth. "As for the fins, you'd have to ask him personally."

There's no tension in his voice, unlike that time with Prowl and the Newspark Law, so Spike makes a mental note of finding Wheeljack after this is over while he nods gratefully to the Medic.

"Does that mean you could take the mask off?" His father asks with a mix of curiosity and expectation, and the ambulance turns around to look at them with a deadpanned expression.

"Of course I can, that's a minor modification. Besides, the face-mask is retractable, _Wheeljack_ can decide when to wear it or not. I guess he's either got used to it over the vorn, or he's just tinkering with something _all the time_ when I'm not there to watch him."

Hoist looks away with an amused smile at that, but the older medic just turns his optics off with a shake of his helm.

"Is Prime's like his?" Both Autobots turn to Spike at that, looking curious, before nodding, and the boy smiles widely. "I _have to_ ask him to take it off."

"Good luck with that." Ratchet snort-revs, turning back to his work of, from what he's seen, taking care of his tools.

"You ask Prime, I'll ask Wheeljack." His father proposes, holding out a hand, and the teenager eagerly shakes it.

"Deal, but you've got to convince him to do it when I'm there too, 'kay?"

"And same with Prime."

Purring chuckles fill the Repair Bay at that, but Hoist calms down easily when they turn to him.

"Want some advice?" The humans nod eagerly, and the Medic smiles softly down at them. "If you ask Wheeljack anyplace outside the labs, he'll probably not object to it. As for Prime… well, good luck with that."

And Spike groans at that while his father lets out a bark of laughter.

"Be thankful we haven't bet anything." The older man finally says when the boy looks up again, though his sulky demeanor quickly goes back to cheerfulness as his gaze falls on the datapad again.

"So we have Road Runners and Racers. What model is Mirage's?" He asks the green mech, who touches a couple of things to show a new modified Newspark Protoform.

This time, Spike has to try really hard to recognize it, and even then, there are only small things he can relate to the blue and white spy, besides the overall shape.

"Why is this one so different?"

"That's a Tower Runner. Most Nobles were Road Runners, and of them, the majority were of this model. Because of that, and of them having access to the means to do so, they modified themselves extensively to be as 'unique' and 'special' as possible. They used to change color schemes frequently too, and minor aesthetic trinkets were added and taken off their frames almost ornly."

"Ornly?"

"Right, sorry. The human equivalent would be 'daily'."

And Spike remembers Ratchet and Hound telling him how many orns it takes a newspark to mature, and that they translated to months in human time measurements.

But to be said that an orn is essentially a Cybertronian day…

"Your days are really long, aren't they?" He whistles with eyes wide in surprise, and Hoist does that purring chuckling again.

"We live a lot longer than any organic lifeforms we've ever encountered, so it's expected that you find our time measures to be longer than your own."

"What does an orn amount in human terms?" His father asks, and the green Medic smiles at him.

"About 8'3 of your days."

Sparkplug whistles in appreciation.

"So, you guys stay awake eight days in a row?" The man questions, and the teenager turns to the Autobot with curiosity.

"It depends on the need to recharge. If we've been battling long or hard, we last less than if we've been working around the _Ark_." The humans nod, and Hoist's smile turns to a calm thinking expression. "Though we don't usually stay active all orn long. About 6'7 of your days in it, we tend to go into recharge. Sometimes more and sometimes less, it depends as much on the frame type and model as it does the mech and the situation."

And the mention of models quickly makes the boy's attention return to the datapad, and write down what the Medic has explained about Tower Runners.

"What other models are there? And who is which one?" The green mech chuckles at that before modifying the datapad again.

"Well, there's Hound. His model is the Wilderness Crosser." The servo stops just before marking another line in the 'model selection screen' as the medic's faceplate turns to a frown and his optics darken.

"Wilderness?" Ratchet repeats with a mix of incredulity and annoyance.

"That's what came up when I tried to translate it to English. I'm looking, but there doesn't seem to be an accurate equivalent other than that."

"Slagging language packets." The ambulance grumbles as he shakes his head and turns back to his work. "First our designations, then that mess with Femmes and now this. This is more trouble than it's worth."

Before Spike can ask what that thing with designations is about, Hoist shakes himself out of his reverie and presses the line, the Newspark Protoform image changing accordingly.

"Well, lets try and make it work with what we have. Alright, this is a Wilderness Crosser." The apparent sturdiness of the frame quickly reminds the boy of the tracker, but, unlike with the Tower Runners, there are a lot more small and not so small details that are clearly Hound in it.

Minus the chest.

The mech onscreen has a slightly protruding bumper-like thing, but it looks nothing like the scout's.

"What is that with the chest?" The teenager asks with a small frown, and Hoist leans a bit to the side as if the new angle could show him what is wrong.

"What is wrong with it?"

"It looks nothing like Hound's."

"Oh!" The Medic exclaims with a big smile, sitting back properly. "That's because of his alt mode, his jeep mode. That's how he looked like back in Cybertron, at least at the basic level. You've got to take into account that this is the Newspark Protoform, there was a lot more plating and some other additions put on after the transfer."

And, once more, Spike finds himself blushing.

"Right, your disguises. I had completely forgotten that you guys weren't always like you are now." A dactyl pats him softly on the back, the pressure barely amounting to what a human hand would feel like.

"It's alright. That's how you've always seen us as, after all."

"And here I was thinking the differences were all because of them being different individuals." Sparkplug groans, covering his face with his hands, and both boy and Autobot chuckle softly.

"No need to worry or apologize, it wasn't as if you knew how different some of us are after scanning this new forms."

"Yeah, you're right. So, what can you tell us about Hound's model?" Spike asks while giving the green mech a big smile.

"Wilderness Crossers aren't as fast as standard Road Runners, but they are a lot more stable on any kind of terrain, and thus have a higher maneuverability than other mechs even in the environment best suited to their models. They tend to have better scans too, though Hound is above average on that." The boy writes it down, chuckling as he remembers the ride through the desert while thinking about what it would have been like for the twins. "Speed isn't everything on the wild areas of Cybertron, and you usually tend to need a specialist or a Flier to get out with all your parts attached to your frame." He adds almost cheerfully, but there's a note of seriousness in his voice.

Spike's smile turns smaller at that, but the Medic waves a hand to quit it importance.

"Now, another model you know is the High Weight." Hoist continues calmly, and the teenager shrugs that off as the Medic modifies the parameters on the datapad.

They're not on Cybertron, and, being with giant alien robotic beings, there is little on Earth that can harm him.

Besides other giant alien robotic beings, of course.

His mind flashes back to the time he was standing in the middle of nowhere, surrounded only by red rocks and sand, and looking up at a kneeling white and dark blue being and a standing tri-colored aerial.

_That was only once._

Trapped by two beings their size, though with drills and pile-drivers for arms, one out of commission and the other held back by a well known and higher ranked enemy.

_Alright, twice. Doesn't mean it will always be like that._

And yet, Spike finds himself wanting to meet them again, if just to see how such an encounter would play out.

Will they answer any questions he may ask? Will they tell him about their culture and physiology like the Autobots are doing? Or about Decepticon way of life?

"Spike?" Startled out of his thoughts more because of the hand on his shoulder than the voice calling his name, the boy looks up, first at his father and then at the Medic.

"Ah, sorry. I was lost in thought."

"We noticed." Hoist answers with an amused smile, and the teenager rubs the back of his head in embarrassment. "I was asking if you recognized this frame." He adds, gesturing to the pad.

The Newspark Protoform has now turned bigger than the previous times, though not as much as with the Prime model—Cargo, wasn't it?—yet that small change is enough to diminish the amount of armor on it.

As thus, the human can only tilt his head in confusion.

"No idea. Who is it?"

"That's Trailbreaker's model." Startled, the boy turns to the green mech and back to the datapad, squinting his eyes as he tries to imagine some more armor on the Newspark Protoform—

And easily recognizing the shape that would result.

"Huh. You're right." Hoist purrs with amusement at that, but Ratchet lets out a loud rev as a bark of laughter. "Alright, alright. Wrong choice of words."

"At least you can recognize _that_." The ambulance answers, the revving having softened but still audible, and Spike pouts when the Medic turns around.

"Well, ex_cuse_ me for not being a Medic or having all this information already crammed in my brain." The CMO straightens with a fake scowl at those words, and the green mech's purring grows slightly in intensity.

"I'll let you know, _newspark_, that there's not a single strand of code _crammed_ in my processor, everything is perfectly partitioned, compressed and ordered as it should be."

"I'm not Cybertronian." He points out, pout still in place.

"Alright. Then, I'll let you know, _child_, that there's not a single strand of code—"

"Alright, alright!" The boy laughs, unable to keep it back at the deja vu that comes with Ratchet's identical intonation of his previous statement. "Self-righteous Medic."

"As it should very well be." The ambulance answers with a nod, leaving the humans laughing as he turns back to his tools with an amused smile.

"Looks like Ratchet's in a good mood, huh?" Hoist whispers, leaning closer, and a cloth flies over the mostly white Autobot's shoulder to slam on the green mech's faceplate. "I didn't say anything!"

"Do you know what doesn't _say anything_ either? Human toasters." The younger Medic winces at that, and the Witwicky have to fight their laughter. "Now give me back my polishing cloth."

Silently, Hoist obeys, wearing a sheepish grin, and father and son exchange a look.

Oh, yes. The Chief Medical Officer is indeed in a good mood.

That, and he values the other Medic too much to throw wrenches at him.

When the green mech sits down again, Spike gestures to the datapad.

"So, about Trailbreaker's model…" He leaves it at that, but the Autobot just smiles.

"The name's High Weight, because they're larger and, consequently, heavier than the standard. They're slower, too, but they make up for that with their thicker armor."

"What about his ability to create force fields?" Sparkplug asks, and the Medic frowns softly.

"Well, that kind of abilities are different from one individual to another. Some are unique to the Cybertronian presenting it, while others are thanks to some kind of device. The thing is, every one of them is attuned to the mech, sometimes using spark energy to initialize, or require some kind of log in only the user possesses, like a certain wavelength of spark energy. Mirage's invisibility and Trailbreaker's force fields are due to devices, but said items were developed using their own systems as their base. I'd rather not bore you with the details, but that's why the Decepticons, nor any other mech, have been able to copy them."

"And it's the same with Skywarp and Thundercracker."

"Not really." All eyes plus one visor turn to Ratchet, once more leaning against his worktable. "Skywarp's teleporting may very well be, but if it is, no one's been able to replicate it. As for Thundercracker's sonics, they are unique to him, as well as Dirge's fear-inducing engines. These abilities that are integrated in the mech are called Sigma Abilities, and it's impossible to copy them, since they're part of their frames. Seekers usually have frequency-related Abilities, including sound. Hound, on the other hand, has the Ability to project holograms because of his highly developed scanning suite. It can't just receive, it can also _send_. Basically, he tricks the sensors of others, but he needs to have scanned whatever he's using to deceive them for it to be useful."

"It's like superpowers." Spike whispers in awe, receiving amused looks from the Autobots.

"You humans have a name for everything except for what matters, don't you?" Ratchet asks in a tone of voice that reveals he's not expecting an answer, so the teenager just laughs.

"Wouldn't know about that, there are names for everything that matters _to me_." He answers cockily, and the Medic dims his optics with a fond smile, leaving him looking condescending.

"Oh, yes. There are names for everything important. _Brat_."

"Har. Har."

* * *

**AN:** Yes! I finished it on time! This one was hard to start, but once I got it going? I couldn't find the brakes!

Update on Friday because I won't be able to tomorrow or Sunday (and because I'm proud of having finished this chapter XP).

I'm happy to introduce some models of Road Runners and answers to some other things. There will be more coming up (and I hope it won't be as hard as with this one...).

Nevertheless, ask if you have questions. Unless they will be answered in the fic, I'll be happy to clear them (my HC's a bit messy sometimes).


	9. Inner Growth

"Cleaning time for you, Bee!" Sideswipe exclaims as soon as the Beetle gets back to root form, Spike trying to keep his snickers silent by his side.

"Not fair! You weren't carrying a human!" The Minibot answers back, gesturing to the teenager, to explain the results of the race.

"Are you saying I'm fat?!"

When all the Autobots do is stay silent and look at him with blank faceplates, Spike's fake indignant expression is replaced by worry.

"Huh, guys? I was joking."

"I don't get it."

"Neither do I." Both Cybertronian exchange a look before turning back to the human. "You are aware of the composition of your body, aren't you?"

"Yeah, you aren't _completely_ made of fat."

In the end, Ratchet ends up having to come outside when Spike can't get up from the ground, laughing so hard that he ends up crying and having to fight to take some deep breaths.

The Autobots aren't amused.

In fact, those crowding around him are more panicked than anything else.

Until the Medic manages to patch the story together between his gasped words and the hysterical Bumblebee and Sideswipe.

Then, to everyone's utter astonishment, the ambulance laughs too.

Well, it's a snort and a smile, but it's more than enough to cut through Spike's mirth to leave him as shocked as his alien friends.

"These humans and their underdeveloped communication skills." He fondly lets out as he shakes his helm, before turning to his usual serious self. "Alright, nothing to see, get back to your posts!"

Still confused, the Autobots go back inside.

Minus Bumblebee, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, of course.

"Is he alright?" The Minibot quickly asks, not daring approach the boy while Ratchet is still by his side.

"Yes, he is. He was just _laughing_."

"But his optics were leaking! Doesn't that happen when they're damaged or sad?" The red twin questions in a mix of confusion and worry, and the teenager smiles widely.

"It can happen when we're happy too." He answers instead of the Medic, and the four Autobots seem to relax, some more visibly than others.

"I still don't get the 'fat' joke." The Beetle comments as they head inside, more confident now that Ratchet is still with them, in case something happens to his organic friend.

"It means being overweight. Does that happen with you too?" Spike asks as his mind catches up with a possible reason for their ignorance.

"Duh, of course. It's what happens when you get a heavier armor upgrade, or carry too much junk in your subspace." Sunstreaker answers, and the dirty look his brother gives him makes the teenager snort.

Before he realizes what has been said.

"Subspace?"

"The Cybertronian equivalent of a pocket." The Medic replies with a plating shrug, and, skeptical, Spike looks him over. "It's not _physical_, so stop giving me that look. Now, how do I explain it so that you could understand…"

The twins exchange a look before, quietly, falling behind—and escaping around the first corner they find.

"All matter is composed of atoms, and these atoms are, essentially, like a snow globe." The boy looks up at the ambulance, who is still staring ahead as he thinks things through. "A figurine in the center, a glass sphere surrounding it and snow particles floating inside. Very vaguely, that would be an atom, only, instead of glass keeping the snow inside, it will be the attraction caused by the figurine, as if it was a magnet and the particles, smaller ones with both polarities present. They would be attracted to the figurine, but the opposing polarity would keep them away from it at the same time." Pondering a bit, the teenager visualizes it, nodding when he sees it clearly. "Now, you can push two magnets of opposing polarity together with enough force. Our subspace, essentially, _is_ that force."

And… the mental image of a snow globe shatters.

"What? Didn't you say it was a pocket?"

"And it is." Before Spike can protest, Ratchets lifts a hand, silently telling him to wait and listen. "It is both. It is the force that pushes those two opposites together of _every_ atom of what you store in it, compressing the object almost to non-existence."

"Really?" The boy whispers, mouth having fallen open and legs no longer carrying him down the corridor.

So, the Medic stops and turns around with an amused smile.

"Really."

The teenager bounces back to his side excitedly, thinking about the times Autobots and Decepticons alike seemed to pull something seemingly out of thin air.

"Unfortunately, its very nature implies there are some things that would never be able to be subspaced without it resulting in severe damage, like living matter."

"Living matter?" Spike repeats with a confused frown, not thinking twice about following the ambulance inside the Repair Bay.

"That composing life forms, be they organic or mechanical. Up to an extent, of course." The Medic explains, grabbing the boy and putting him on a table before he starts to order the tools on it. "Organics are chaotic and unstable creatures, and more heavily damaged the further developed they are. To subspace one of you rodents or lagomorphs would mean its deactivation." He adds, optics darkening in seriousness, and the teenager shivers at the words. "But living metal _can_ be subspaced, as long as it is the mech's own, for we can easily block or disengage any important lines and wires in the parts meant to be subspaced, leaving them as barely more than sheets of inert metal."

"Wow… So you can, like, take a finger off and put it in subspace?" Ratchet's engine purrs in amusement as he shakes his head.

"No, I can't. Only some parts are meant to be subspaced, and my dactyls aren't precisely it. Think about it, Spike. What part of a mech can you see in one mode, but not in another?"

Lost in thought, it takes the boy about five minutes to find an answer to that, during which the Medic has taken out some files that he's intently reading and modifying.

"Prime's trailer!"

"That would be one, yes, though not necessarily it. Then again, it isn't as if you know enough mechanics to know differently." The white mech smiles as he says that, though, so Spike's triumphant grin doesn't vanish. "Now, every Cybertronian has some parts, no matter how small, that are meant to be subspaced at one point or another. The delicate optic lenses, per example, are almost always subspaced when in alt mode." He adds, tapping the corner of a blue optic to reinforce his words.

And then, the teenager thinks back to another quite impressive characteristic of some mechs that might be easily explained by the topic at hand.

"How about those that change sizes? Like Perceptor and Skyfire?"

But Ratchet wiggles a dactyl in front of his face in a negative, despite still being smiling, and confusion takes hold of the boy.

"Now, that's a really good question, but the answer is not subspace."

"It isn't?"

"No, it's not." The Autobot repeats with amusement, and the human sits down to continue listening more comfortably. "Take Skyfire. His alt mode's a transport shuttle. It's big, yes, and more so when he has to carry us, but most of it? Cargo bay. Empty space. He just needs to fold the chassis, and all that space vanishes, leaving an average Shuttle mech." Holding back the urge to facepalm, Spike just nods with a grimace, and the Medic's engine purrs in soft chuckling. "Now, you could argue that Perceptor is the inverse case, with his root mode being the one with extra space, but if you said so, you would be wrong."

"He's solid?" The ambulance snorts at the choice word, but nods after the boy gives him a sheepish smile.

"He doesn't have any extra empty spaces, if that's what you mean. What he does when he transforms to his alt mode is fold himself tightly, filling all natural spaces and modifying the core components he has no use for to allow the size change."

"But wouldn't that mean he's heavy? I've carried Blaster and Soundwave in their alts, and they don't weight more than the average cassette player!" Spike exclaims, remembering Sunstreaker's comment in the corridor, before the twins got away.

And talking about getting away, when had Bumblebee vanished?

Ratchet's amused snort-rev brings his attention back to the mech instead of looking around for the Minibot who is obviously not there.

"That would be why we have anti-gravs." The Medic answers simply and, this time, Spike does facepalm. "Never noticed before?"

"Never even thought of _that_. I feel like I should have known all of this long ago." A dactyl pats his head with what feels like amusement, no matter how impossible such a thing seems, and the boy looks up to glare at the still smiling Autobot.

"Well, that's why we're here, Spike. Just ask, and I'll try to answer." Unable to keep up his annoyed front, the teenager beams.

"Thanks, Ratchet."

"Just doing my job." Loud shouting in Cybertronian echoes in the corridor, the roar of high performance engines growing louder as does the angered voice. "And that would be my job too." The Medic grouses, scowling, as he calmly walks to the door, opens it—

And steps into the corridor as the cars approach, the high pitched shriek of tires on metal as the vehicles suddenly break quickly following, and the ambulance's darkened blue optics focus down.

"Sideswipe, Sunstreaker. How nice of you to come by, I needed some help with some supplies in Storage Room C4." The smirk on the Autobot's faceplate can only be defined as positively evil and, for the second time of the day, Spike breaks down laughing.

* * *

When he lands flat on his back for the second time, Spike knows he's been defeated.

However, that doesn't mean he can't glare darkly at the innocent red and yellow cassette player sitting on the ground by his feet.

And at the bunch of laughing Autobots surrounding them.

"Giving up already, Spike?" Blaster asks happily and, with a huff, the boy sits up.

"Yeah, I am. You're _heavy_." He grumbles back, as the Communications Officer returns to root mode and mimics his position on the ground, legs crossed Indian style.

"Actually, I'm quite light for a Cybertronian." More laughter follows that statement, and the human glares around again, arms folded against his chest.

"Well, I'm not a Cybertronian. Even your 'lightest' would feel heavy to me, same as your 'smallest' is still quite big." He answers, shrugging, frown slowly turning from annoyance to curiosity as excited chatter spreads through the observing Autobots.

"We should make gag videos!" Bluestreak exclaims suddenly, and some others nod in agreement.

"Gag videos? What do you mean?"

"You know, those short scenes in those programs that show pranks being played on people on the street and being filmed and then send to the TV programs." The Doorwinger explains happily, and Spike has to laugh when he realizes what he's talking about.

"With Blaster?"

"I can already see it." Sideswipe's mystified voice quickly attracts all gazes to the red mech, blue optics shining excitedly. "Spike walking down the street with Blaster in one hand and a bag in the other. Suddenly, he trips and falls, and the good human walking next to him stops to help him up and retrieve his fallen cargo. Spike grabs the bag, and the other human grabs Blaster, but! He can't lift him!" Laughter starts to mingle with his words as the red frontliner gestures wildly. "No matter what he does, he can't move Blaster from where he's fallen! And then, Spike grabs Blaster as if he weighed nothing and just walks away!" Even the boy is shaking with mirth at that, imagining the faces on the unsuspecting prank victim. "It will be awesome!"

"We could do it with yourself!" The Cassette Carrier answers back, and Sideswipe's dumbfounded expression makes the laughter increase. "Get Carly in it, as the poor girl whose wallet or purse has been thrown under the car, out of reach, and she asks someone to help her get it. But nobody can until Spike shows up, lifts Sideswipe and grabs the purse! And then, he just puts the car down, and he and the girl walk away hand in hand!"

A second later, half of the present Autobots are sitting down as they try to keep their roaring laughter under control.

"Both! We have to do both!" The red twin squeaks once they have all recovered, hunched over himself as he sits cross-legged next to the human and Communications Officer.

"I was just joking. You know I'm more of a radio mech." Blaster answers, leaning back with a cocky smirk.

"Aw, come on! It would be The Voice's debut on TV!"

"I'd rather The Voice didn't appear as prank material, thank you very much."

"Who is The Voice?" Spike asks after a moment listening to the friendly banter.

Despite the smile still on his face, Blaster turns… more subdued. Somber.

It doesn't help that impression that the rest of Autobots suddenly go silent, observing them almost solemnly.

And then, the Communications Officer straightens, a determined expression on his face, and the teenager finds himself holding his breath in anticipation.

"Forget your 'never retreat, never surrender'. That's a given, something imprinted in Autobot essential coding. No, I'm talking loud, proud, and only stop swinging one moment after you're already deactivated. _That_'s how we'll beat 'em." He can see, out of the corner of his eye, how the others in the room straighten, awe allowing him to let out a soundless sigh as Blaster… _talks_. "You hear me, Autobots, you go out there today and give 'em Pit! Just remember, big those 'Cons may be, but they're not clever. We got the moves! The smarts! The spirit! Nothing and no one… is _ever_ gonna stop us!" The whole room seems to cheer along its occupants, fists pumping up to mimic the Cassette Carrier's, and even the human finds himself with his arm lifted when he cares to notice. "You'll _fight_. You'll _resist_. You'll _overcome_. You're Autobots. That's what we do. There's a moment in everyone's function when they look inside themselves and find that solid, hard core that can't be corrupted, or broken, or trampled. It happens when it's darkest, when we're alone and in pain and afraid, that we find it. That's when we understand who we _truly_ are. Who are _you_?"

"_Autobots_!"

And the mix of voices, engines and what sounds like a rain of boulders as the mechs stomp hard finally break the boy out of his awed and determined state as he finds himself falling back to the ground with a yelp.

Blaster's laughter calms the situation a bit, though it's easy to see how pumped up the other Cybertronian still are with just a glance.

"And that, my dear Spike, is The Voice." The Communications Officer answers simply once the human finally sits up again.

"That was amazing! How did you do that?"

"I'm just that good." Blaster smirks easily, plating moving in a nonchalant shrug, as the room slowly empties, the Autobots excitedly chattering between themselves in Cybertronian.

"I didn't know you did that, you know, those inspirational speeches." And, once more, the red and yellow mech grows more subdued, though this time by what seems like sadness.

"Yeah, well. At the beginning of the war, when it was all out fighting… this kind of thing was doable. But after the Decepticons started pushing us back, wining more and more of Cybertron… We had to go in hiding, we became more of a guerrilla than a real front. This kind of transmissions would have given out our location." He explains, and Spike finds himself looking away at the defeated tone in the Communications Officer's voice.

And he understands it.

He's seen how his small speech invigorated the other Autobots, can imagine how much good it did in war times. To be forced to stop, to no longer be able to help like that…

The teenager jumps upright, a bright grin slowly spreading across his face as an idea grows in his mind.

Blaster looks curious and the slightest bit cautious when he rushes to him, leaning against his ankles to be able to whisper without the other Cybertronian in the room hearing.

When the Cassette Carrier leans down, the boy's smirk grows wider.

"The Decepticons already know our location, and it isn't as if they can do anything about it." He says simply, and watches.

Blue optics slowly pale as realization dawns and, with a small hopeful smile turning into an awed one, the Communications Officer grabs the boy and stands up.

They don't speak as the red and yellow mech walks down the corridor to the bridge, simply nod to those they meet, but never stopping to talk.

Optimus and Prowl look up when the door opens, but they don't ask nor stop Blaster as the Cassette Carrier leaves Spike on the communications console before starting to fiddle with the keys.

Instead, they watch curiously, with Ratchet joining them when he enters the room, his open mouth closing as the Medic seems to feel that something is about to happen.

When the sound of clicking keys stop, the teenager turns to watch the Communications Officer straighten in a show of strength and plain, simple righteousness.

And then, one last key is pressed, and all computers in the room have a small screen pop up in a corner, showing Blaster and Spike on the console, both with shit-eating grins.

The boy's only widens when he realizes that the phenomena isn't restricted to the bridge, but that screens all over the _Ark_ have to be showing them too.

"You heard it here first! The Voice… is _back_!" Optics flash in surprise, but none of the other officers says anything. "I'll be broadcasting live to all Autobot outposts, a fully amped audio-visual shot to the system, a guaranteed tonic for the troops! So get those flags unfurled and your receptors ready for my patented patriotic patter, the next glorious era of Autobot ascendancy… starts _here_!" Prowl's doorwings twitch, a small smile trying to grow on his lips, while Ratchet doesn't even try to hide his own proud wide grin. "Lister up, sharpshooters—this is Blaster, bringing you the word to the wise, the chatter that matters. It seems words like 'impossible' and 'insurmountable' have crept into the Autobot lexicon while I've been away, so I'm making it my first order of business to reinvigorate the vocabulary of victory. So say after me, we will _triumph_, we will _resist_, we will _overcome_, we will plumb depths of _resolve_ and _self-belief_ we thought were out of reach! And in the dark times ahead, that faith in our own, personal well of fortitude and resilience will light our path to a glorious destiny, win or lose, live or die, nothing and no one… is _ever_ gonna stop us!" And, fist pumped up, Spike finds himself repeating that last sentence, buzzing with energy from just some words, and knowing that he did the right thing by helping Blaster notice that small detail of their situation on Earth, because the Cassette Carrier is almost bursting at the seams with pride and the knowledge that he can help his fellow Autobots again with something that he _loves_.

Optimus may be wearing his mask, but when the boy meets his optics, he knows he's giving him a proud and thankful smile.

* * *

**AN:** Alright, first of all, my apologies for the late update. Real Life circumstances and the fact that this chapter didn't want to be written threw me out of schedule. Fortunately, I've finally managed to wrestle it into shape, and I've got my writing time back, so it shouldn't happen again (emphasis on _shouldn't_, I can't promise it _won't_).

That said, I apologize yet again for the short chapter, but, as stated above, this was all I managed to get from this.

Now, as some of you may have noticed, Blaster's speeches aren't mine, I got them from IDW's _Spotlight: Blaster_, with some modifications, of course.

Also, I updated the previous chapters. Only the first has suffered 'major' changes, since there was a contradiction with my headcannon in it, though you don't need to read it again if you understand what was explained in the following chapters, especially the issue of 'Femme' being a frame type and 'mech' the Cybertronian equivalent of 'dude/man/guy'. The rest only have grammar corrections, so no biggie there.

And... I think that's all I had to say.

Thanks for your patience, hope you enjoy, or at least don't dislike too much, this chapter, and hope to read from you all if you decide to review!


	10. Reality is Worse than Fiction

It has been a normal week for everyone. That is, after getting the Cybertonium and bringing the Dinobots back.

Though, to some degree, that was kind of normal as well.

After all, when dealing with giant alien robots, the term 'normal' tends to include a lot more than it did before.

In fact, it's so different from the 'normal' of before the first meeting with Cybertronian, that a Decepticon attack to a power plant, another oilfield in this case, is almost downright boring.

Which is why Spike is carefully looking around the battlefield, trying to find somewhere a tiny human like himself can be of use with the same calm of someone who is sifting through the grocery list while in the supermarket.

Standing a safe distance away, of course.

He doesn't want to get trampled or shot by accident. Or intentionally.

Nor does he want to make of himself a hostage.

So, he turns his attention back to the battlefield, after taking a look at his surroundings.

So far, so good.

Frenzy and Rumble are busy with Brawn and Hound, and Laserbeak is up in the air with the Seekers, so that rules three of the Decepticons able to sneak up on him out. And, as far as he knows, the rest of Cassettes are still in Soundwave's chest compartment.

Just in case, the teenager takes a look at where the Communications Officer is standing next to the building, shooting at whatever Autobot gets in range, but otherwise keeping out of the tangle of brawling Cybertronian.

For a second, the boy considers walking up to the Decepticon and ask him about whatever first crosses his mind.

He quickly dismisses the thought with a shake of his head.

Soundwave may have been… civil, since the misunderstanding with Laserbeak, but he's still a Decepticon.

Besides, Spike can always ask the Autobots for any alien-related questions that may pop up, like he's been doing since the differences between them became really obvious with that mess with creation.

And yet, he finds himself wondering if there aren't things that can only by answered by the 'Cons.

With one last shake of his head to get rid of those thoughts, the boy turns his attention back to the battlefield.

Megatron and Prime wrestling, check.

The twins bringing down Thundercracker, check.

Ratchet fixing Cliffjumper, check.

Hound prying Rumble off of Brawn, check.

Frenzy jumping on Hound to get him to release Rumble, check.

Soundwave falling to his knees and dropping his weapon, che—

_Wait, what?_

Rubbing his eyes to try to clear whatever must be wrong with his vision, Spike quickly turns his attention back to the Cassette Carrier.

He's still by the building, and, just like he's seen, he's on his knees, weapon on the ground, and servos slowly rising to cover his helm.

But he's alone.

There's no one holding him at gunpoint, no one threatening him, no shooting marks around him.

Feeling something that may or may not be worry, Spike hurries towards the fallen Decepticon.

He hears Laserbeak shriek as Bluestreak shots him down, as well as the Cassette twins' roars as they deal with Hound, Brawn and Gears, but he only has eyes for the dark blue mech, huddled into himself and, as he gets closer, clearly shaking.

"Soundwave?" He calls, slightly out of breath, as he gets to his side, and the feeling is obviously worry as he hears the low clicks and whirrs of Cybertronian speech escape the Decepticon in an unending whisper, black servos clenching his helm almost too tightly.

_Could it be that he hasn't yet recovered from the lack of Cybertonium?_

"Soundwave, are you alright?" He asks, a bit louder than before, as he takes some steps closer, finally able to see the wildly flickering almost yellow visor. "Soundwave…?" The air seems to tremble, a high pitched sound slowly growing louder as the Communications Officer's shaking grows worse—

And is only then that Spike hears the loud shrieking from the battlefield, quickly turning to see Frenzy _literally_ biting Hound's servo as Rumble trashes under Gears and Brawn, both Cassettes staring in his direction with pale pink visors and a weird expression on their faceplates, something almost like—

_Fear_.

There's a soft click at his back and the teenager whirls around just in time to see Soundwave throw his head back as his chest compartment opens to release three Cassettes—

The world rushes out of focus as something slams into him, almost burying him against a padded surface from the strength of the impact, and a muffled high pitched explosion rattles his brain.

Some kind of tendrils keep him pressed against the cushioned seat-like thing, but he manages to squirm around once he regains a bit of focus, the shrieking still going on, though a lot softer than before.

And his heart skips a beat when he realizes he's sitting inside a F15 Falcon's cockpit.

Though the craft seems to be standing vertical to the ground, judging by the fact the seatbelts are the only thing stopping gravity from throwing him against the controls.

Meaning, either the Seeker is taking a nosedive, or he's still in root mode.

Since he can't hear the engines running…

_And I didn't want to get captured…_

He can't help the yelp and him grabbing the seatbelts when the whole cockpit jerks, as if the Seeker had jumped, and immediately hears the turbines roar.

"Can I ask where are you taking me?" He asks softly, confused and more than a bit wary as he finds himself hanging upside down from the seat, which can only be because the mech is _still_ in root mode.

He gets no answer.

It doesn't take long at all for the flight to end, and, still tense, Spike can only frown in confusion when he feels the soft movements and hears the tapping that means the Seeker is walking.

And the soft shrieking hasn't stopped, it just hasn't been audible until now that the engines have gone silent.

Worry and genuine fear start to fill the teenager at that.

"What the Hell is going on…"

The soft hiss would have made him jump if it hadn't been for the seatbelts, so, instead, he watches the canopy open a bit, barely enough for him to squeeze through—

If he hadn't been grabbing the harness, he would be lying against the controls as it releases him.

Instead, he steps on the panel under him, careful of the levers and buttons, and, slowly, steps out of the cockpit and onto the waiting servo.

A sky blue servo that, instead of clenching around him, lowers him to the rocky floor of the large cave they're in.

Once safely on the ground, Spike turns around—

And feels his mouth fall open.

Starscream just gives him a solemn look before closing the orange canopy and turn his attention to Soundwave.

Who is cradled against the Seeker's side, arms tightly embracing the Flier as his helm rests next to the cockpit, visor offline, with one of the Air Commander's arms around his shoulders to keep him in place.

With them sitting on the ground, Starscream with one leg outstretched and the other bent at the knee, and the Cassette Carrier nested in as small a ball as possible against his side, it looks, impossible as such a thing should be, like a kid being soothed after a nightmare.

The growling at his back, though, immediately distracts Spike from the sight of the two Decepticons, turning to find Ravage stalking him, mouth open to let his sharp teeth flash in the low light coming through the entrance, Buzzsaw and Ratbat observing from behind the panther mech.

There's a soft whirring at his back, but no way in Hell will the boy look away from the Cybertronian still approaching threateningly slowly.

Ravage's growl is cut by a snarl, and there's some more whistling from either Soundwave or Starscream—though he suspects the latter, seeing how the TIC wasn't exactly focused on the world some seconds before—and, to his utter surprise and not-so-hidden relief, the panther stops and closes his jaws.

Though he's still looking at him with what can only be identified as a glare.

Buzzsaw squawking something quickly takes his attention away from the black and silver Cybertronian, even if just for a moment, to see none of the Flier Cassettes have moved from where he last saw them.

Some more clicking from behind him, and the fact Ravage is returning to his brothers' side, slumped in defeat, finally convinces the boy to look over his shoulder.

Soundwave hasn't moved from Starscream's side, and the Seeker watching the smaller mechs is the only clue he needs to know who has been speaking all along.

When no answer comes forth, Spike decides to surrender to his curiosity, despite his sense of self-preservation urging him to stay still and silent in hopes of the Cybertronian forgetting about him.

"What is going on?" He asks softly, chancing a look at the Cassettes to make sure they're not thinking about pouncing before moving a bit to watch the larger mechs. "Is Soundwave alright?" He adds without second thought, able to once more hear the soft whining now that the cave's mostly silent.

The shaking dark blue frame is quite worrying too, regardless of faction.

"He will be." The Seeker answers simply, voice low to a soft and strangely soothing rasp.

And then, silence dawns again.

Not sure if he should ask once more about the situation, and feeling really uncomfortable with the Cassettes' optics on him, the teenager fidgets and embraces himself, rubbing his arms in an effort to warm himself.

It may be light outside, and they may still be in a desert, but that doesn't mean it's hot in their rocky hideout.

"Come here." Startled out of his wary analysis of his surroundings, the boy can only look at the Flier in confusion. "Your peripheral temperature is dropping, systems will begin to enter shutdown to maintain your core temperature, and that may lead to damage. So, come here." And this time, when he softly pats his extended leg, Spike obeys.

Carefully, and feeling creeped out by the optics still on his back like the laser pointers of some riffles, the boy moves to be next to the thruster, leaning against it when he realizes it's still warm but not hot enough to burn.

He doesn't even try to hold back a content sigh as he feels the cold release its clamp on his body, sitting down and moving to a more comfortable position against the plating that allows him to look at the two Decepticon officers.

His relief vanishes as he realizes Soundwave hasn't snapped out of whatever has turned him into the quivering and whimpering mess he is now.

It's… disturbing, to say the least.

And terrifying.

What could be so horrible, so powerful, to render the immutable Third in Command and Communications Officer of the Decepticons all but useless?

Embracing himself once more in response to a not physical coldness, the teenager presses his back further against the almost unnoticeably vibrating warm plating, unable to look away from the black visor.

"What's wrong?" He whispers at last, finally managing to meet Starscream's red optics.

The seriousness on the Seeker's face is more than enough for him to shiver again, but the boy doesn't look away.

He _will_ get answers this time.

… Though the Decepticon SIC seems pretty stubborn on _not_ enlightening him.

The shudder that follows isn't Spike's, but Soundwave's, and the Flier quickly turns to whisper something to him, in Cybertronian and with a voice so low that it sounds completely smooth, almost, dare he say, beautiful.

The shivers racking the dark blue frame go back to being almost imperceptible, and Starscream finally turns to the boy with a determined glint in his optics that makes them seem sharper.

"You humans, despite your many languages, lack words and concepts that are basic for Cybertronian, mostly due to the fact your science is too rudimentary." Feeling insulted by the calmly spoken words, Spike stiffens, but one blue servo held up in a gesture for him to wait quiets the boy before he can even begin. "Think of it as your actual science in comparison to that of your first simian-like ancestors. Most of your explanations relied on _magic_ and _gods_ back then. However, it may seem some of your more… _ambiguous_ concepts are actually accurate." Confused, the teenager finds himself holding his breath as the Seeker turns to make sure the Cassette Carrier is comfortable by his side, not looking away from him as he continues. "What ails Soundwave are what you humans call ghosts."

Of all the things he had been expecting, possession was not one of them.

Or, actually, anything in the realm of the supernatural hadn't been it.

Sci-fi? Of course, he's dealing with giant sentient robots from outer space.

But ghosts, possessions… _That_ hadn't even crossed his mind.

And his dumbstruck look may be reflecting that quite well, because Starscream's optics go offline for a couple of seconds, as if he was summoning the needed patience to deal with the situation, before he turns to the human once more.

"If you're thinking about apparitions with the shape of those who were deactivated, forget it."

"I was actually thinking about possession." He answers, too startled to even care about the annoyed tone of the Flier.

Who doesn't immediately answer, instead studying the human with that emotionless façade he seems to have adopted now that Soundwave can't use it.

It's creepy and uncomfortable and slightly terrifying, because he hasn't denied Spike's thoughts—

"It happens."

_Oh, shit…._

"However, that is not the present situation. Tell me, human, have you ever asked you dear Autobots why there's only one Communications Specialist in each faction?"

The teenager's mouth opens to answer—and the meaning behind the Seeker's words rears its ugly head.

"There's… there's just Soundwave and Blaster _on Earth_ but… you mean, there's only them in the whole of the Autobots and Decepticons too?" The Flier just nods. "What happened to the rest?"

"Computers send signals to the satellites in orbit around the planet, who, in turn, reflect them back to the receiver. That's how your technology works. And, at the basic level, that's how ours, both integrated and external, do to. However, satellites aren't the only things that can interact with these signals. The radiation from stars, even other planets, can mess with them, reflect them, duplicate them… in short, once a message has been sent, it can never be completely extinguished. Those are our ghosts. The calls, the reports millions of years past, the cries from battlefields that are nothing but rust… and sometimes, backup files of whole processors." Starscream's optics dim, no longer focused on the boy, as Spike feels horror slowly growing at the bottom of his stomach. "We can all sense them, though they're usually nothing more than bursts of static through open comm lines. But mechs specialized in Communications, the whole of the Cassette Carrier frame type, _built_ for that… They can receive them, decode them and have them flood their processors even before they become aware of the intercepted package."

Soft scratching sounds make Spike jump in fright, pressing closer to the Decepticon's turbine, before he realizes it's just the Cassettes moving closer, giving the human a wide berth as they pile against Soundwave's legs.

They look, despite their faceplates and frames being some of the hardest to read, exhausted and worried sick.

"What… what happens when they… receive those ghosts?"

"Usually, a secondary sub-processor identifies and categorizes them, for many are not…" Instead of finishing his sentence, Starscream lifts his head just enough that he can stare at the pure blue sky through the arc of rock of the entrance. "Large enough backup files tend to upload into the mech's processor, sometimes overwriting the original personality and databanks, ending in a 'possession'. Some of them can be cleared of the invading data, but for others, their only option is deactivation." The boy shivers, rubbing his arms again in an effort to keep the chilly touch of fear at bay. "And then, there's the situation where whole data exchanges are received, such as conversations."

"Is this what has happened to Soundwave? That's why he's… talking?" The Seeker offlines his optics, but nods nevertheless.

"Until the transmission ends, until the ghost finishes its message, there's nothing we can do. Trying to shake him out of it will only allow the echoes to take a stronger hold of him. Were we back in the ship, or in Cybertron, we could have tried to scramble the signal. But out here, we can only wait."

"Will he be alright?"

"He's strong. And he knows not everything is real. He's already functioned through this particular ghost, and he's grounded in the _here_ and _now_. But that doesn't make the voices weaker, or their pleas easier to ignore."

"_Pleas_?" He squeaks, voice almost too soft, but the Seeker turns to him to show he's heard.

"Simfur wasn't one of Cybertron's greatest cities, but it was a respectable one. It was divided by our war, and was made one of the strategic points between the hemispheres. As such, it was subjected to quite a good number of sieges. Until the Plague of Body-Snatchers."

Not sure if he wants to know or not, Spike finds the decision is made for him as his mouth opens of its own volition.

"Plague of what?"

"Some of your Gastropods, of your snails, create shells of their own, while other species occupy those vacated by larger specimens once theirs grow too small. Your hermit crabs have been known to reside in human-made items, such as bottles. And yet, you do have a word for it."

"A word for what?"

"Zombies."

And now is when the teenager feels himself pale to shades he's never got to before, because ghosts as errant signals when it comes to mechanical beings he can understand, but zombies…

How can metallic creatures have their own brain-eating undead variants?

"In times of war, the frames of those deactivated are recovered and recycled, for spare parts are hard to make, especially in a confrontation as long-lived as ours. With its constant change of sides and sieges, Simfur was a prime example of that, to the point they had more deactivated frames than functioning Cybertronian. Now, there are many kinds of 'zombies' for us, since empty frames allow for lots of vermin to make their nests in, and there are quite a handful that can manipulate those frames."

"The Undead." Spike whispers, cutting through the explanation as it dawns just how easily could mechanical bodies be 'brought back to life', in comparison to organics.

"No. The Body-Snatchers." Starscream corrects, optics as emotionless as his faceplate. "There is no such a thing as a functioning sparkless mech, insults aside. Those are called drones." The boy nods with a small grimace, conceding the point. "As I said, there are many kinds of them. Some are harmless, simply inhabiting the frame, even able to move it somehow, though very little. And then, there are the parasites, the Energon Guzzlers, the Corroders. Those that _infect_ a frame and use it to get _more_. No energy-based weaponry and no transformation, but no pain, no need to refuel or recharge. Only to find more Cybertronian to infect. And _those_ are the real 'Undead', the ones that find themselves trapped in their own frames as the parasites cut them off, as their own systems are turned against them. The Energon Guzzlers drain all liquid energy sources, leaving the spark to self-consume. The Corroders devour the alloys that make up the frame, until the cascade of errors is such that the spark extinguishes. And there are more, each worse than the last."

Dark red optics find Spike's gaze, and only then does the boy realize he's shaking, huddled into himself and whimpering softly, because he knows the horror movie zombies that move slowly and moaning and are always after brains or flesh, but they're always reanimated corpses, and, more importantly, _not real_.

Yet, in at least one inhabited planet of this universe, the made up tales of rotting monsters with known faces that are used in Earth to amuse and give a quick scare, are living nightmares, are things that _can_ and _do happen_.

A terrified hiccup-like sob escapes through his lips, and he suddenly finds himself being surrounded by warm dactyls, carefully closing around him to bring him to the Seeker's chest.

From his new position, nestled between the cupping servo and the red chest structures, Soundwave's mutterings are even louder and more desperate, even though his voice is trying to sound composed.

"What happened?" He whispers, still shaking, as he curls tighter against the warm metal he's all but lying on.

"Simfur was under Decepticon control, besieged by Autobots. The civilians had long since deactivated each other as they chose sides, only a third having escaped the massacre to join one faction or another. That meant that the occupying forces, approximately a quarter of Simfur's previous population, had five million frames in various states of disassembly. Too many empty frames in the same place, and with our attention focused on our enemies…" Starscream's voice trails off, but Spike doesn't need more.

Face distorted by horror and disbelief, he can only look down at his shaking hands, pressed flat against red plating, and shake his head.

"Oh God." His voice is strangled and so soft he barely hears it himself, but he can't find it in himself to care about it.

_… __five million frames…_

"Oh God."

"When the Plague spread, it did so fast. The alarm was triggered late, all sensors pointed to outside the city walls, all optics and audials turned to the Autobots. Few escaped, and of those, none made it through the siege. Fortunately, the walls stood strong still, containing the menace, but we had to move fast. We obliterated Simfur, razed it to the ground. We even had Autobot support, once we managed to get a message along to Prime of what was going on. And then, once there was nothing but ashes left, we bombed it again. And again. And joined the siege lines to ensure none of those monstrosities escaped to wreak havoc anew. A whole vorn, that tenuous peace lasted. One whole vorn of having nothing but torsos, or arms, or even decapitated helms drag themselves to any living creature they first sensed. We had an outbreak in the lines, a minor one, more of a scare than anything else. But we managed it. And when the parasites stopped coming to us… we went to them. It took us another vorn to clear the whole of what had been Simfur, and even after that, we rained fire on it once more, just in case."

The following silence is cut only by Soundwave's soft whirring and clicking and, once he manages to process everything, Spike realizes his question hasn't been answered.

"How about the ghost—"

"When the Plague first spread, not all of the Decepticons in the city made it out." Ominous silence falls again, red optics—_haunted_ red optics, if such a thing is possible—locking with his dark eyes. "Some fell, some escaped, and others barricaded themselves. Theirs were the messages we received, the alarm that was sounded. But we didn't have the forces to get them out."

"You destroyed the city—"

"And everything in it." Starscream finishes solemnly, before turning his once more distant gaze to somewhere in the past. "But it took us too long to get ready, too long to convince Prime and prepare the strike. And they never shut down their comms."

"Soundwave…"

"Is trying to calm them down, to reassure them."

Enemies of his friends they may be, and they may have threatened him with death and worse no few times, but, in that instant, the teenager's heart breaks for the Decepticons.

"Does he know…"

"Deep inside, he does. But that is the problem of such advanced communications arrays. That, along his own memories of the event… He knows he's not there, he _is_ fighting what he hears and sees. We're anchoring him as best as we can, but only Soundwave can fight this battle now."

Soft whining under them gives Spike enough strength to stretch his neck and see that the three Cassettes are slowly moving to their creator's lap, soft sounds escaping them.

Slowly, he stands on red plating with the help of the servo still supporting him and, carefully, reaches for the helm resting so close yet so far away.

After a second of nothing, blue plating moves, and the boy barely has time to attach himself to a couple of dactyls like a leech before he finds himself suspended in front of a half-hidden black visor.

"Come on, Soundwave. Come back." He whispers, standing on the servo carefully and, finally, managing to rest a hand on warm dark blue metal.

Soft tingling goes up his arm at the touch, but the slight pink color the surface in front of him has taken is more than enough to push the weird feeling aside, the chirring and clicking growing lower until they finally stop, pale red visor rebooting in a blink before the mech slowly moves away from the Flier, though he cradles his Cassettes close to his chest.

The other pale blue servo comes to secure Spike on his perch, but he's not put down.

"Thank you." The Communications Officers whispers, still shivering softly, as he looks at all those present, voice soft yet mechanical and emotionless.

"No need to." The teenager answers, and he can see Starscream nod in agreement from the corner of his eye.

"Query…" The Cassette Carrier's voice breaks softly, and, when nothing follows, the Seeker slowly stands up, cradling Spike closer to his chest with one hand to offer the other to his fellow Decepticon to help him stand.

"He was too close. I got him in my cockpit to shield him from your sonic burst, and I had no choice but to bring him along. I've been telling him horror stories while we waited for you to come back." The Air Commander answers the unvoiced question, a humorless smirk on his faceplate as the dark blue mech stands up with his help and allows his creations to go back into his chest compartment.

"Ghosts, Body-Snatchers, Spark Eaters—" A burst of static and the whirring of transformation cut Soundwave's words and drown the boy's startled yelp as a sharp movement sends him to his knees, fortunately managing not to fall from the servos under him.

He quickly looks around, noting the Decepticon Third's startled orange visor, how he seems to be a step further from before and his tense position. As he turns to his handler, he feels his mouth fall open, for never before has he seen the stark terror that is now clearly seen on Starscream's faceplate, along the way his optics are pale amber and flickering madly, and—

He has no wings.

His wings have vanished, the spaces they should have been occupying far too obvious even in the dim lighting—

No, there they are.

Bent back and down to press flat against his back, one on top of the other, as far as the poor angle he's seeing them from allows him to tell.

He has moved his wings to protect them, to make himself smaller.

It's not hard to arrive at that conclusion when one takes a second look at the Flier's face, the horror making him shake hard enough that Spike dares not try to get to his feet again more than obviously being the reason for their movement.

"Not… not about Spark Eaters." He whispers at last, cooling fans working so hard that they are easily heard, shaking stopping and wings rising once more, whirring back to place when the Air Commander finally composes himself. "Let's go. We have to drop the human off, and Megatron won't be happy that we just vanished in the middle of the fight."

Without another word, Spike finds himself once more in the Seeker's cockpit, though this time with the mech in his alt mode and the Communications Officer sitting quietly in his lap.

The Autobots are still at the oilfield, no sign of any other Decepticons, so Spike is left far enough that, by the time Ironhide arrives to collect him, the F15 Falcon is not even a speck against the blue sky.

_And here I thought nothing could be worse than learning about Cybertronian reproduction…_

* * *

**AN:** A bit late but the chapter didn't want to collaborate... until it decided it was going to write itself on its own. I sincerely don't know what happened! All I wanted to explain is there, all the main points in my mental draft have been covered... but I swear I don't know how things progressed as they did!

Alright, as always, **Bibliotecaria.D** has been a great source of HC inspiration (especially the ghosts, I knew what I wanted, but I didn't know how to put it), as well as Max Brooks' _World War Z_ and _The Zombie Survival Guide_ (both for the ghosts and the zombies themselves. I really don't know if I love or hate that author for making them be so slagging _realistic_). Also, the Spark Eater name and some of the idea is taken from IDW's _More than Meets the Eye_._  
_

**Qwertzu:** I can't believe I haven't answered before, I'm so sorry! I want to thank you for all your reviews and for taking the time to write them in the first place. I'm really glad you enjoy the fic, and even more that you let me know! Thanks again!


	11. The Nightmare with a Thousand Names

Looking down at Blaster's immobile frame on a Repair Bay's berth, optics black and face relaxed, Spike muses once more about his new information on Cybertronian culture.

Ironhide, holding the quiet human on a servo, shifts softly, a gesture showing how uncomfortable he feels, but doesn't try to ask what happened with the Decepticons again.

_"Spike, are you—?"_

_"Is Blaster alright?!"_

_"Wha—"_

_"Blaster! He's back at the _Ark_! Is he alright?!"_

_"Whoa kid, calm down. What happened with those 'Cons?"_

_"That's not important! I need to see Blaster!"_

The Weapons Specialist had stared at the snarling human with open surprise, before transforming and driving away from the oilfield as fast as he could, the teenager squeezing the steering wheel in his anxiety.

Wincing at the memory, the boy looks up at the red mech.

After all that had happened in that cave, the first thing that had come to his mind when he'd seen an Autobot hadn't been the battle they'd been involved in, but Starscream's words.

_"We can all sense them, though they're usually nothing more than bursts of statics through open comm lines. But mechs specialized in Communications, the whole of the Cassette Carrier frame type, _built_ for that…"_

Blaster hadn't accompanied them to fight the Decepticons, and the Seeker had said _they_ could scramble the signal if they were in their ship, but…

"I'm sorry about before, Ironhide. It's just… Starscream said that what was going on with Soundwave also happened to other Cassette Carriers, and I got worried." He finally explains, bowing his head and looking at the eerily quiet red and yellow mech on the berth.

"S'alright, kid. But I'd like to know what that no good 'Con told you. The last thing we want is for you to get bad data, and we both know the 'Cons have used your lack of knowledge before." He answers with a small grimace.

Spike can only turn to the Weapons Specialist before approaching footsteps grab their attention.

Ratchet and Perceptor approach them, the first calm and the second looking more relaxed and far more relieved than when they found him nervously pacing in the Repair Bay after a slightly panicking Trailbreaker, who had been waiting for them at the _Ark_'s entrance, directed them there.

Ratchet, who had glued himself to Ironhide's side as soon as the van sped away from the battlefield, had given the stasis-locked mech on the berth a quick but thorough scan before pulling the nervous scientist away for a talk.

"So?" The Weapons Specialist asks without his usual gruffness, and the Medic gives them a small sad smile.

"He's fine. Perceptor managed to sedate him before he could hurt himself." He explains, the microscope looking away both embarrassed and guilty. "Or anymech else. I'll have to talk to Trailbreaker later. Apparently, he had to restrain him in a force field before they could shut him down." The boy winces and rubs his arms as shivers rack his frame, getting an idea as to _why_ would Blaster turn crazy and start blasting anything that moved.

_"One whole vorn of having nothing but torsos, or arms, or even decapitated helms drag themselves to any living creature they first sensed."_

"Spike?" The white and red mech calls, worry in his voice as a dactyl presses softly under his chin so that he's staring into slightly paler than usual blue optics. "Are you alright?"

"Kid, what did those Decepticons tell you?" Ironhide finally asks again, and, this time, the boy just sighs tiredly before pushing away a new shiver and straighten.

"Starscream explained what your ghosts are like." He answers, firm voice slowly weakening as the memory surfaces again, of a whimpering Soundwave trying to comfort those long gone and that had been condemned from the very start.

He can't keep his body from shaking as a wave of nausea fills him.

"—when I catch that slagging traitorous pile of scrap I'm going to force-feed him his own voice box! How the Pit did he mangle the truth this time to—"

"I don't think he was lying." The teenager interrupts firmly, a small glare directed at the incensed Autobot. "Unless your ghosts aren't transmissions or even pieces of a mech's self that are rebounded to others. He said that once a message is sent, it can't be erased, and that you can all hear it as static, but that those like Soundwave and Blaster… they can even be _possessed_." His eyes have turned to the immobile mech on the berth, but he doesn't need to look up to know the Seeker wasn't lying.

The silence is more than enough answer.

"Did he say anything else?" Ratchet asks softly, and a small humorless smile slowly grows on Spike's lips.

"He also explained about the Body-Snatchers. Those that drink Cybertronian dry of Energon, and those that eat their metal… and he told me what _this_ specific ghost is." The servo he's standing on tenses, and he can hear the slightest of grinding as the Autobots stiffen. "He said it's the messages sent by the Decepticons that were trapped in Simfur when the Plague spread."

"Oh Primus…" Finally looking up at the others, the teenager doesn't feel surprised to see the Medic's optics so pale that they're almost white, a hand cradling his helm, while Perceptor seems to have shrunk, so tightly is his armor pressed against his struts.

Ironhide's systems go silent for almost a full whole minute, faceplate slack with horror and disbelief.

"I understand why Blaster reacted the way he did then." The scientist whispers, shaking himself back to some semblance of calm with a loud clanking of his armor, optics rebooting a couple of times as they slowly darken to their usual shade. "Did Soundwave attack you too?"

"No. Starscream said that he'd gone through that once already, and that, deep inside, he knew it wasn't actually happening. But…" He looks away once more, lips pressed into a tight line as he once more embraces himself. "I didn't understand a thing because he was speaking in Cybertronian, but Starscream said he was trying to calm and reassure the… the ones who sent the message." All Autobots wince, Perceptor flinching back while Ratchet's plating fluffs out almost menacingly.

"Well, slaggit. I'm not going to be able to shoot at Soundwave in a long while." Ironhide grumbles, though without the usual darkness or eagerness in his tone when talking about Decepticons and fighting.

"_If_ what Starscream said is true. Whoever… well done, Perceptor. Blaster _definitely_ didn't need to go through that. Functioning through such an experience once was enough without having to hear those poor Unicron toys."

"Unicron toys?" He repeats, trying to change the topic, though unsure if that new one will be much better.

"A manner of speech to refer to those fated with horror and pain." The scientist explains softly, far more calm than before. "I think you call them 'poor devils'."

"Ah." He lets out with a soft grimace, easily agreeing with Ratchet's words after that. "Yeah, I get it now."

"Why did they catch you this time?" The Medic asks almost nonchalantly as he scans the stasis-locked mech once more.

"I was too close to Soundwave when he… well." Both Ironhide and Ratchet nod, not needing more.

"The sonic burst."

"Yeah."

"Was that all?" The white and red mech asks after the quick check up, turning to the human and looking him up and down with piercing optics, scanning him for injuries.

About to give a negative, the teenager finds himself freezing, mouth still open.

After seeing what two simple words did, does he really want to know their meaning?

"Spike?"

_No going back now._

"When Soundwave came back to himself, Starscream told him he'd been telling me horror stories while we waited."

"Afraid those aren't horror stories, kid. Simfur was unfortunately all too real." Ironhide cuts in the instant the boy's resolve to speak wavers, probably assuming he wanted to confirm the truth of what he was told.

"No, it's not that. It's that… when Soundwave heard that, he asked… well, he _kind of_ asked what kind of horror stories I'd been told about."

"Kind of?" Perceptor repeats, looking curious, though slightly apprehensive, judging by the way his armor is not completely in its place, still held close.

"He started a list. And I say 'started' because he only managed three things before Starscream cut him off." Having to take a deep breath, and all too aware of the optics on him, Spike holds three fingers up before starting to pull them down with each term. "Ghosts. Body-Snatchers. Spark Eaters."

The three Autobots shiver at that, plating once more close to the struts, though Ironhide's engines are softly rumbling in anger.

Whether it is to hide the fear easily seen in the way the Medic and scientist are holding themselves, is something only the Weapons Specialist himself knows.

However, it is a simple reaction when compared to when he told them of Simfur, and more so when he thinks back to the Decepticon Second in Command.

"You're… pretty calm." He finds himself saying as he watches them, one by one.

"Calm? Kid, Spark Eaters are a pretty serious deal." The red mech reproaches with a glare, and the boy quickly lifts up his hands as if to ward off his annoyance.

"No, it's not that they aren't, it's just… remember I said Soundwave didn't say more because Starscream cut him off?" They all nod, the adopted human gesture having become quite common due to its usefulness. "Well, he didn't… tell him to shut up. He _panicked_." He makes sure to put special emphasis in that last word, gaze serious as he watches the three startled Autobots. "He jumped, folded his wings back, and looked the most terrified I've ever seen any of you." He adds for good measure, and, rebooting pale blue optics, Ironhide and Ratchet exchange a look.

"Terrified." The Weapons Specialist repeats, voice emotionless, as he tries to make sense of it. "Starscream, whom we've seen cowering at Megatron's pedes and begging for mercy."

"Yeah. Get why I thought you were pretty calm?" He only receives nods once again, but knows his message has come across. "I believe you when you say they're a big deal, more so after knowing… well, after being told zombies are real for you guys. But… are Spark Eaters _that_ bad to make _Starscream_ panic?"

"Spark Eaters… they're an abnormality, even among everything else." Perceptor answers instead, more calm than before and looking pensive. "There are a lot of virus that can infect us, but, despite the spark having coding too, all of them attack the processor. All but one." And when his optics meet the teenager's eyes, he can only grimace as he realizes what the scientist is going to say. "The Spark Eater virus is the only known one able to keep its integrity in such a highly energetic environment, to the point it _thrives_ in it. It replaces a mech's essential coding with copies of itself, which leads to the infected slowly turning into a processor-less entity bent into acquiring more energy to support the virus. Meaning, more sparks."

"What's really bad about Spark Eaters when compared to Body-Snatchers is that they don't take hold of the body. Those creatures that inhabit a Cybertronian's frame can make it move, to an extent, but they can't use neither energy weapons nor transformation, and, due to them being completely out of the host's systems, they move slowly and uncoordinatedly, like those 'zombies' from your cinematographic films." Ratchet adds, voice calm yet dark as his optics stare down at the human with a chilling seriousness. "Spark Eaters have no such restrictions, for their commanding center is the mech's own being. They're as invulnerable to pain and need to recharge as Body-Snatchers, but they're as fast as the host body was, and able to utilize some of its ingrained features."

"They can't transform nor use firearms, since that's too big a drain on their borrowed systems, but they… _create_ some new ones." Ironhide pipes in, scowling as he glares at a wall, the dactyls of the servo the boy is on curling slightly inwards. "Claws, for starters, and any kind of blade or blunt weapon is as effective in their hold as it was to their original owner. Plus, some of them, according to legend, can make bladed tails out of their own Energon lines and converters, since they can't really refine Energon. That's why they hunt sparks and… even _that_ is kind of weird. I don't know how, but Spark Eater victims always have their torsos ripped open _from the inside_." And he gives an almost nonchalant look to the other two mechs, who shake their helms in answer to the unasked question.

"The Senate was rumored to have a specially trained unit, some kind of Black Ops, that dealt _only_ with them, but you'll have to ask Prowl or Jazz about that. Maybe even Optimus, but he didn't really deal with politics before the war started." Ratchet continues, far calmer than before as he once more scans Blaster, as if distracting himself from such dark thoughts.

"They were never common enough to be more than a legend, at most, and when an attack did happen, things were usually covered up as something else." The red mech adds, shrugging in the Cybertronian way of shifting plating as his dactyls relax their clawed positions. "You have something like that… the Busyman?"

"Boogeyman." The boy corrects with a snort, though he finds himself frowning almost immediately. "Didn't sound like that to Starscream though…"

"Maybe he actually dealt with one?" Perceptor suggests, and dumbstruck expressions appear on the other two mechs. "According to your description, he was fairly affected by their simple mention. Such a reaction wouldn't be brought about by knowledge of the legends, or even of an attack. Witnessing such a thing, on the other servo…" And he leaves it at that, and Spike feels Ironhide shiver almost imperceptibly.

"Won't be able to shoot at him in a while?" The boy asks half-mockingly, but the Weapons Specialist easily answers with a scowl.

"Nah, Starscream's too infuriating _not_ to shoot at him."

"You know, I think our guest will be safely secured by now. I should visit." Ratchet muses out loud, not at all sounding innocent, as he walks past the red mech and easily snatches the human from his servo, making him squeak in surprise before he's allowed to sit down when the dactyls open. "Keep an optic on Blaster for me, will you, Perceptor?"

"Worry not, I will do so." Is the last they hear as the Medic calmly walks out of the Repair Bay.

"Guest?" The teenager repeats, curious, looking up at the calm mech carrying him.

"Prime just called to let me know they have our prisoner all nicely set up in the brig. I made sure his weapons and comm were off before Ironhide told me to come with him to the _Ark_, but a more thorough scan won't hurt."

"You managed to capture a Decepticon?" Surprised, the white and red mech finally looks down, before allowing a rueful smile on his face.

"Guess Ironhide didn't get to tell you. Yes, the twins banged Thundercracker up so badly that we snatched him before he could fly away. I think Prime's trying to buy some Space Bridge use in exchange for his safe return, but that doesn't mean we can't ask some _innocent_ questions, can we?" He adds, an almost malicious smirk on his faceplate that makes the boy chuckle.

"So _that_'s why you fished me out of Ironhide's grip!"

"Oh? He's a body of water now?"

They both laugh loudly at that, scaring poor Cliffjumper at the sound as they walk past him at an intersection, his curious gaze following them until they round the corner that will take them to the brig.

"Iron Lake, only human fishing allowed." The teenager snickers, the Medic once more calm enough that he just shakes his helm.

"More like a rapids' river, with that temper of his. Well, here we are." He answers calmly, opening the last door and almost slamming into Jazz, who gives them a jaunty salute before sauntering past them and out.

"Ah, Ratchet. Thank you for coming so quickly. How is Blaster?" Prime asks, turning to them with his usual calm, and, after leaving Spike on the floor, he steps closer to his leader to speak without being overheard by the white and blue mech staring at them from the other side of the energy bars.

Deciding to take his chance, the teenager approaches calmly to observe their prisoner.

Thundercracker _is_ pretty banged up, the tip of the right wing bent slightly backwards and dents, scraps and scorched marks all over his frame, along _lots_ of dirt, but he's online and his optics shine as brightly as ever, as shown when he glares at the human.

Though he doesn't say anything at being stared up by the boy, so he decides to take it as an invitation to speak.

"Uh, hi." No answer. "I have some questions, and I wondered if you could answer them." The Decepticon sneers a bit at that, orangish optics darkening, but the boy decides to press onwards, since he hasn't outright been told 'no'. "Starscream explained about Ghosts and Body-Snatchers, and it got me thinking… has he met any actual Spark Eater?"

Thundercracker straightens with a jerk and a chocked noise, surprise and disbelief on his faceplate that get replaced by a pained grimace as his back slams against the wall.

"How the Pit did you manage to get _that_ out of him?! He'd never—!" His rant is cut as his optics pale, a servo quickly covering his mouth.

"So he has." The boy whispers in horrified awe, the last piece clicking in place.

Starscream has seen what is essentially a demonic-possessed and mutated individual that devours _souls_ by making their victim's chest be ripped open from the inside.

… No wonder he looked so utterly _terrified_.

"Spike?" Ratchet calls, worry and suspicion in his voice, and the teenager quickly whirls around with a dumbstruck and wary expression.

"Starscream _did_ meet a Spark Eater." He answers simply, and Optimus' optics flash almost white in surprise, his armor pressing against his struts as the Medic scowls with a soft shiver.

"Well, that would explain things."

"Explain _what_?" Thundercracker snarls, and, suddenly too aware of how close he is to the prison bars, the human steps away, gaze once more on the seething Decepticon.

"As I'm sure you know, both him and Soundwave have taken to explaining things to Spike. Apparently, when Spark Eaters came up in a conversation, he reacted… exaggeratedly. Pressing his wings down against his back and looking completely terrified, I believe was the description." The white and red mech answers, and the prisoner hisses menacingly, optics darkening yet still bright.

"Yeah, right. As if I'd believe _you_."

"That's what I saw." The boy interrupts softly, confused by the Seeker's reaction. "He looked as if there was one of them in the cave instead of just their name coming up." And, more thoughtful than angered, Thundercracker relaxes against the wall.

"What were you talking about?"

"Ghosts, Body-Snatchers and Simfur." And the Seeker groans, burying his faceplate in his servos.

"Yes, that would definitely bring _that_ up." His voice is muffled, but still easily understandable from where the teenager is standing, and, curious, he steps a bit closer to the bars once more.

"That?" Whole frame stiffening, it takes the Flier a bit to look up, but, when he does, the human quickly hurries away from grabbing range.

Because he'll eat his own shoes if that on Thundercracker's face isn't a sharp dark smirk worthy of his Trineleader.

"You know, once the war started, all sides became too worried about each other to pay attention to everyday issues, but that doesn't mean they didn't happen every now and then. That's why there was a Plague of Body-Snatchers of Simfur, why there was a Wave of Wraiths. That was why Spark Eaters kept popping up." And his smirk widens, deranged glee in his words that only make the boy pale and step further away. "And someone had to take care of them. We allied with the Autobots to take care of Simfur, we developed harsher and more efficient firewalls and scramblers to deal and prevent more Wraiths. That's why any and all appearances, or even _rumors_, about Spark Eaters were immediately reported to Starscream." Gaping like a fish, Spike finds himself sitting on his backside as the wicked smirk sharply becomes a freezing and utterly _serious_ glare. "That's why Megatron keeps him as his Second and why no one's managed to ever get him down from that post. And there have been more than a couple of attempts to _permanently_ remove him, I assure you."

"_Starscream_ has dealt with Spark Eaters?" One of the Autobots, he's still too scared stiff to recognize who, asks, and that petrifying gaze finally moves away from the human.

"He's fast, and a Flier, and his weapon of choice are _null-rays_. Of course he did. One single well-placed shot, and the monsters' sparks practically extinguished themselves. Why do you think Megatron doesn't object to those _non-lethal_ weapons?" The smirk is there once more, and the boy gulps loudly, attracting it again. "They _are_ lethal."

"If he's so capable, why was he as terrified as Spike described?"

Dark orangish optics darken even more as Thundercracker curls into himself, pressing against the wall without a care for his light injuries.

"One single _well-placed_ shot." He repeats before his optics go black, head against his chest behind the arms he's rested on his raised knees, too close to the body to give a nonchalant appearance instead of a scared one. "And sometimes that wasn't enough." He adds in a whisper, and, shaking hard, Spike almost cries out when something grabs him and lifts him up.

When he finds himself staring into Prime's concerned optics, he finds the tight grip fear had on his body give up, allowing him to turn to a puddle of trembling human kneeling on the mech's servo.

He can hear Ratchet say something in Cybertronian before the truck starts moving, a warm dactyl caressing the boy's back to help him relax as they walk through the corridors.

"I—I'm better now." He finally manages as they enter the bridge, Prowl giving them a calculating look while Jazz cocks his head curiously. "Thanks."

"No need to thank me, Spike. But remember, Thundercracker may not have been truthful. In fact, I believe he was manipulating you once again, so try not to take his words seriously." The Prime answers calmly as he lets the teenager step down onto Teletraan's controls. "Now, why did you need me here, Prowl?"

"Megatron wants to speak with you." The SIC explains and, with a simple nod from his leader, he clicks something that makes the Decepticon bridge appear on the screen in front of them.

"_Ah, Prime. _Finally_ you decide to grace us with your presence._" The gray mech sneers from his throne, both Starscream and Soundwave standing at his sides, the Seeker wearing a 'why did I ever decide following this moron was a good idea' look. "_I believe you have something of mine. State your price._"

"I have a question." The human blurts out, two pairs of red optics and one visor suddenly jerking to the bottom of the screen, as if they hadn't noticed he was there before.

"Spike, what are you—?"

"Why are you afraid of Spark Eaters?"

And Megatron bristles, leaning forward menacingly as he clenches the armrests to the point they bend, but Soundwave tilts his helm just enough to look at the suddenly stiff Second in Command, now amber optics not meeting the pale red visor.

"_Afraid?_" The Decepticon leader hisses, voice quickly rising to its usual thundering tone. "_Now, look here, flesh-bag. I'm not afraid of anything, least of all some stupid _legend_—_"

"So you never had to face any during the war?" He cuts, and the gray mech scoffs angrily, but the Communications Officer's visor softly changes to a curious orange as the Seeker stays completely immobile and tense.

"_As I said, _legends_. Spark Eaters are but another lie of the Senate to keep us under control._" The Warlord sneers, straightening in his seat and finally noticing his top officers' behavior. "_And what are you two doing?_"

Soundwave quickly snaps at attention, though Starscream almost jumps out of his armor before facing his leader once more.

Both stay silent, optics and visor rebooting a couple of times before they go back to their usual red.

"_Well?_"

"_Nothing. Just startled at the fleshling's insolence._" The Seeker manages, easily recovering his haughty attitude, but none of the other two look fooled by his slightly stuttered answer.

"_You wouldn't happen to be _scared_ of Spark Eaters, would you, Starscream?_" The gray mech asks with a growing mocking smirk, having completely forgotten the open communications line, apparently.

"_Of course not! Legends and wild stories made up by overcharged idiots. That's all that they are._" The Flier scoffs, straightening to look down at his leader.

"_You'd better not be getting any ideas from those _wild stories_ or—_" Whatever Megatron was going to say it's cut by the Seeker moving, the only warning being the white flash of Soundwave's visor.

Too fast for Spike's eyes to follow, he only catches a blur of white and red and blue being thrown to the floor of the Decepticon's brig, the shrieking and clanging of metal almost deafening him as a flash of sparkly pink makes the boy's eyes go to the gray mech—

And his mouth falls open when he sees deep puncture marks on Megatron's shoulder quickly overflowing with Energon, a black servo immediately clasping them as the Warlord stands to fall into a ready defensive position, more Energon bathing his opposite side and thigh from unseen wounds.

"_I would _never_ deal with anything related to those monsters!_" Starscream shrieks from where he's kneeling on the floor, wings perched high on his back and completely facing the throne in an impressive intimidating display, even though his back is to the screen. "_Don't you ever dare even _joke_ about such a connection!_"

After a second of silence, in which Soundwave doesn't even twitch from where he's hunched behind his leader, visor almost yellow in surprise and slight fear, Megatron's optics slowly pale as realization dawns on him.

"_You _do_ believe in them. And you _fear_ them._"

"_Don't you _dare_ assume what you're talking about. You know _nothing_! There's no stopping those things, no restraining or subduing or even _hoping_! They can feel you, track you down, ambush from the most unlike of spots and devour your spark without even touching you, without even getting close enough to _do_ so! It's only destruction and pain and if I hadn't closed the Trine bond Thundercracker and Skywarp wouldn't—_"

Starscream's voice goes silent so suddenly that Spike's ears ring.

Slowly, red-marked white wings fall onto the Seeker's back, shaking visibly, as the mech shirks into himself.

That brings Megatron's attention to the still open connection and the dumbfounded expression on his faceplate becomes irate as his optics turn almost white.

He slams a fist on one of his throne's armrests and the screen goes black.

"Nickel, iron, cobalt, chrome. He'll eat your soul, turn your spark to stone." Jazz whispers, voice strangely melodic and words rhythmic, but Spike doesn't dare turn around. "Nickel, iron, cobalt, chrome. Run, little mechling, run away home."

* * *

**AN:** First of all, to all those that commented about last chapter being a good Halloween chapter, I have to admit I hadn't even realized the date, but I've got to agree. I hope this one works as a Halloween chapter too.

Second, the title is one of the names Spark Eaters are given in IDW's _More than Meets the Eye_, from which are also Jazz's last words.


	12. Hidden in Plain Sight

For what seems like the first time in his life, Sparkplug doesn't berate his son when Spike curses loudly.

Nor does the boy himself care.

This situation merits any and all swear words.

The door creaks once more under the assault, the metal groaning painfully—

But not drowning the moaning of the Body-Snatchers on the other side.

Soundwave is kneeling on the ground, head tightly clutched in his servos, with the Witwicky at his feet and Bumblebee pointing his gun at the door.

Through the dirty and cracked windows of the warehouse, the teenager can see the silhouettes of what once were living mechs, now completely unrecognizable unless he focuses.

He doesn't want to do that.

He doesn't want to look at one for a bit too long, and find a name to call it for.

The hinges squeak, bending slowly, and the Minibot takes a step back, plating tightly pressed against his struts.

A louder crash—

And shooting from the outside.

Slowly, as a roaring sound grows louder, the silhouettes start to vanish, the voices moaning becoming less and less…

Until there's just silence.

Before someone knocks at the door.

"If there's someone in there, get out!"

Soundwave stands up and walks to the door, the rest following.

Thundercracker and Skywarp are standing there, Starscream a bit further ahead scanning their surroundings.

The gigantic city is dark, only the moonlight helping them see.

It's also deserted, not even dead bodies on the streets.

"Come on, before something else decides to try to get us. This is our chance to leave Simfur, the Autobot forces are waiting outside the walls." The blue Seeker explains, and without another word, they start to walk.

An eternity goes by without any change, every street they turn into, every building they walk past identical to the last.

Until Starscream guides them into an alleyway, dark enough that not even the ground is seen.

A light before them flickers, some kind of lamp, and they freeze, eyes on the figure under it.

Smaller than the Fliers, but still bigger than Bumblebee, and with sensor horns on his helm and a characteristic black and white scheme.

The visor is offline.

"Jazz, has the passage been cleared? Is it safe to cross?" Starscream asks, still at the front of their small group, the other two Seekers at the back.

The Head of Spec Ops smirks, widely and menacingly.

"Not a soul in it." He whispers, his voice echoing eerily in the alley. "And not a soul will be."

The lamp turns off, and Jazz's visor comes online.

Shining a bright blood red.

"Nickel, iron, cobalt, chrome." The voice comes from everywhere and nowhere at the same time, but the mouth under the band of red, shining as if it had a fire inside, moves with the words. "He'll eat your soul, turn your spark to stone."

"Run!" Starscream shouts, arms snapping up so that shoulder-mounted guns point at the saboteur.

"Nickel, iron, cobalt, chrome." The lamp flickers again, this time red, and, with each flash, the Autobot's body changes a bit more, growing taller, thinner, hands curling clawed fingers menacingly, sharp teeth distorting that impossible smile even more, tentacles ended in sharp pincers rising from the former TIC's back. "Run, little mechling, run away home."

Moaning comes from behind, and Spike whirls around just in time to see the alley entrance be blocked by a sea of black and misshapen frames, red and blue optics and visors the only light from that end, the shadows pilling to thrice the Seeker's height—

There's a rip of metal, and, horrified, the boy turns to see Jazz's chest slashed open from the inside, sharp edges of the broken plates dripping Energon, but his heart-stopping smile is still in place as he takes a step closer, lifting his hands—

Starscream bends back impossibly as his own chassis bursts open, a bright sphere of white light floating out of the hovering body and resting on the saboteur's claws, who brings it up to his mouth—

As soon as he bites on it, the spark is snuffed out like a candle in the wind.

The Seeker's frame falls to the ground with loud clanging, but immediately stands up as if nothing happened, chest open and the same horrifying smirk on his faceplate as Jazz.

"I told you to run." The black and white Autobot chuckles, voice still echoing, and Spike turns around to do so, but the Body-Snatchers are already on them, Thundercracker's shots doing nothing while Skywarp is on the ground with Soundwave ripping the Flier's guns off, an empty gaping hole that should be a mouth where his facemask was—

Something grabs him, squeezing tighter the more he fights against it, and lifts him, bringing him up to a hellish sharp-toothed grin and blood-colored visor, and the teenager struggles even more against the tentacle's grip, the mouth opening more and more under his feet to reveal a roaring fire—

"Nickel, iron, cobalt, chrome…"

He falls.

And slams to the ground hard enough to leave him without breathe, stilling his struggles long enough to recognize his own sheets wrapped around him.

He quickly gets rid of them, cold sweat making him shiver even as he manages to realize he's in his room.

Nightmare.

None of it was real.

Letting out a shuddering breath, Spike tries to calm down, getting off the floor and looking at his alarm clock.

When he sees the numbers in it, he immediately discards the thought of trying to get back to bed.

Maybe a shower and a good cup of coffee can help him instead.

* * *

Bumblebee is impossibly oblivious.

That, or he's just that good at noticing how his human friend doesn't want to talk about his unusual quietness.

Though perhaps it's because he's discussing football with Sparkplug.

One way or another, Spike's left alone to look outside the window as the desert goes by, trying to push away all remnants of the nightmare.

With the happy banter in the Beetle, the pure blue sky, the warm sun and the miles upon miles of unblocked view, it's easy.

So, when they arrive at the _Ark_, the boy is joking as usual with the other human and the Autobot.

And then, en route to the bridge, the lights go out.

"What happened?" Sparkplug asks curiously, and the teenager forces himself to take a deep breath when he sees blue optics casting light on a white faceplate.

This is nothing like his nightmare.

So, despite being swallowed by darkness, he finds himself relaxing.

"Perceptor said he had some modifications to apply to the power grid, so I guess he got permission." Bumblebee answers nonchalantly, the shrug almost heard in his voice.

"And how long—" The lights come back again and, blinking madly to get used to them, Spike waves the question away. "Never mind."

Bumblebee chuckles, and the teenager turns around to scowl at him, or something—and what he sees is so like his nightmare than he lets out a scared cry and steps into his father.

The Minibot whirls around in surprise, one arm up and ready to slam a fist into his attacker, but he stops when he sees Jazz's hands up in a 'I'm unarmed' gesture, smiling sheepishly.

"Trying to test mechs' awareness again?" The Beetle asks with a chuckle, relaxing and letting his hand down, and the saboteur reboots one half of his visor in a blink.

"The lights have been going on and off all day. How could I let this pass?" The Head of Spec Ops answers, and Bumblebee snorts.

"How many?"

"The twins, Ironhide—got a dented shoulder plate for that, see?—Ratchet, Cliffjumper and Prime."

"You got Prime?"

"Best of all, Prowler was with him." The yellow Autobot bursts out laughing. "Yup, that's what I did after. Prowl was the only one that saw me coming." Jazz adds cheerily, before turning his attention to the humans. "Now, where should I put you? You saw me too, but you were as scared as Sideswipe."

And Spike opens his mouth to answer, but finds himself closing it with a gulp, trying to convince himself that the wide grin and dark blue visor of the mech that tried to surprise Bumblebee are not the same as the impossibly wide smile and blazing red band of the one from his nightmare.

It's being pretty difficult to do so, though, more so because Jazz is still smirking sharply—ah, no, now he's sobering and… is that worry in the darkening visor?

"Spike? Are you alright?"

"I… Yes, yes, I'm fine now." He manages, along a tremulous small smile, but the saboteur kneels down with a serious look.

"Not buying that. You sounded like you'd seen a monster or something."

Expecting some kind of jab, like 'and I'm not that ugly' or something along those lines, the teenager stays silent.

But it doesn't come, and that's almost worse than the seriousness of the TIC.

Though it's relaxing, too, helping separate dream from reality.

"I had a nightmare. You… reminded me of something in it." He answers with a dismissing shrug, hoping to clear the situation with that.

The dark blue visor seems to grow brighter without changing its color.

"Meaning I _was_ the monster in it." It's not a question, the words almost dripping with certainty. "Tell me about it."

"It's not—"

"Tell me."

Startled by being cut off, though more by the no-nonsense tone of the saboteur, Spike freezes for an instant.

"I was in a warehouse. With Bee, Dad and… Soundwave." No reaction. "We were… hiding. There were… Outside, all around the building, trying to get in… There were Body-Snatchers." Bumblebee tenses. "I… don't remember it clearly, but I think they were… the rest of you guys." He gestures vaguely to the two Autobots to symbolize the faction as a whole, and the Minibot's optics pale. "And then… there were shots, and the Body-Snatchers… were taken care of." Because there were no bodies when they walked outside, but dreams are weird like that. "It was Starscream and his Trine. They told us to get out, that we needed to leave the city and that… the Autobots were waiting outside." He looks away for an instant, because he clearly remembers that part, something that should have been enough to clue him in the fact it was a dream. "They said the city was Simfur." But, again, there's no reaction from the saboteur. "We followed Starscream… And I don't know why we didn't fly away, now that I think about it, but… Well. The thing is we got to an alley where we were supposed to… I don't know what. Get through a tunnel, or something. And there we met the guy that was supposed to make sure we could get out."

"Me." Jazz adds when the boy looks at him, and Spike can only nod, gulping again. "Was I a Body-Snatcher too?" Unable to get words through his throat, the teenager shakes his head.

_"Nickel, iron, cobalt, chrome…"_

He shivers so hard that his hands go to his upper arms to try and keep himself together.

"Worse." The saboteur keeps going, judging his reaction—and his visor pales in surprise, before that brief reaction is smothered by a pained grimace. "Oh, Primus. Guess I brought it on myself with that traditional rhyme. What did the me from your nightmare do?"

"He changed. And tried to eat me." He lets out with a small voice, and the Head of Spec Ops mutters to himself in Cybertronian.

"Well, slag me. Can only tell you that I'm not about to go around trying to eat humans, then." The mech answers at last with a small soft smile.

"And ripping mechs in half to eat their sparks?" Jazz groans as if in pain, burying his faceplate in his servos.

"Slag the me from your nightmare. No, I won't go around being all Spark Eater-y, and I promise the only tentacle thingy you'll ever see from me is my grappling hook." He answers, patting his forearm with a proud smirk at the last words.

Before he realizes it, Spike finds himself snickering, the cold grasp of fear vanishing.

"Thanks Jazz. That really helped."

"Anytime, buddy. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to borrow Bumblebee. He's been sneaking out of the training room too much to be considered training anymore." The yellow Autobot moans dejectedly, and both humans burst out laughing. "See you around!"

"Later Jazz. Take care, Bee."

"Will try." The Minibot adds before disappearing around the corner with the white and black mech.

"So that's why you were awake so early." Sparkplug muses out loud, giving his son a deep look that makes him feel like a child again. "You know, someday you'll have to tell me what happened yesterday."

"I… later. Please."

After a second of simply staring at each other, the man smiles and pats his shoulder.

"Alright. Now, come on. I need to talk to Wheeljack and you're coming with me."

Curious, the teenager simply nods and follows, their conversation turning once more to sports before they reach the doors to the labs.

Calmly, the older human pounds a fist against the door in the human version of knocking in a Cybertronian ship, since the doorbell installed on the side especially for them got fried during one of the scientist's last experiments.

After a couple of seconds, loud footsteps approach and the door opens to reveal the Lancia himself.

"Spike, Sparkplug! I'm glad I've got to see you again. The doorbell should work now." Wheeljack salutes happily, gesturing to the side before taking a step back. "Come inside. How can we help you?"

"Actually, could you step outside for a minute?" As confused as the Autobot, the boy turns to his father.

Taking a look back to see Skyfire nod as answer to keep an eye on whatever the green and red-marked mech is working on, the Lancia complies, the door closing at his back as he kneels down, fins flashing the same curious blue of his optics.

"What is it?"

"Could we see you without your facemask?"

And it all slams into Spike at that.

The explanation about Road Runners, and how facemasks were an accessory… and the deal that Sparkplug would get Wheeljack to take off his while Spike convinced Prime.

And Ratchet telling them that as long as he wasn't in his laboratory, they should have no trouble with the inventor, but that they would have to work harder to see the Cargo's uncovered faceplate.

Wheeljack reboots his optics a couple of times, his fins shining paler as his surprise grows, before a purring chuckle fills the corridor.

"Sure."

And the facemask slides to one side, seemingly vanishing in the space between helm and faceplate, to reveal a wide amused grin—

"Are those scars?" Spike splutters before he can stop himself, eyes on the parallel lines crossing over the mech's lips almost vertically, one longer than the other.

"They are." The scientist answers, grin still in place, as a dactyl caresses the thin gouges in an otherwise immaculate pale silver face. "Ratchet was pretty angry when I got them, and said that he was so tired of fixing my faceplate that he simply wouldn't do it anymore. So, I got my facemask instead. They were quite useful at the beginning… you know how I usually think better like this?" One servo covers his lower face, index finger tapping absentmindedly, before it's taken off. "Well, if I could feel the scars, it meant I couldn't get to work, because I had to put my facemask on first. But if I couldn't feel them—" The curved slab of metal slides into place, hand once more covering it and tapping on it. "—it meant I could experiment, because my facemask was on."

"Aren't they… uncomfortable?"

"Not at all." The Autobot answers, facemask once more slipping out of sight. "They're merely cosmetic, otherwise Ratchet would have repaired them _and_ given me my facemask." The humans chuckle at that, the wide smile on Wheeljack's face a strange but not unwelcome sight. "Anything else?" Both humans exchange a look, the adult shaking his head in answer, before Spike's face lights up.

"I don't remember asking you, and you don't have to answer if it's uncomfortable or anything, but… do you have any creations?" The teenager asks, sheepish yet curious.

Wheeljack falls on his butt, laughing almost madly.

"Good one, Spike!" The Autobot manages to chuckle after a bit, but, when he sees the confused looks on the Witwicky, his large smile turns to surprise. "Wait, you were serious?"

"Well, yes. Why would I ask if I wasn't?"

"I thought you knew. I mean, it's not a secret, so I assumed you had been already told." Father and son exchange a look, asking the other if they know what is going on. "Well, lucky me, then! I get to be the one to tell you." The scientist adds chirpily, crossing his legs and leaning forward with a bright smile. "Yes, I have creations, and yes, you know them."

Spike's mouth falls open in disbelief, and a look reveals the older man in the same situation.

There are related Autobots on Earth, other than Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, and no one ever _thought_ to tell them?!

"I was the lucky one, you see. I got twins, and both of them matured without problem." The Lancia continues as happy as a kid in a candy store, before looking down at the humans.

Silence.

"Twins." Sparkplug repeats before sitting down, shaking his head softly. "Must admit I didn't see that coming."

"You're Sideswipe and Sunstreaker's dad?" The boy asks, overwhelmed, as he revises all situations involving the three mechs in case there was some situation he'd overseen.

"No, I'm not. Why did you—? Oh! You mean you don't know they're twins?" Wheeljack asks, tapping a fist against his open servo in realization.

"What?"

"Alright, let me explain the whole situation then. No, I'm not Sideswipe and Sunstreaker's creator. I'm Grimlock and Slag's."

"_What_?!"

"What's all that noise?" A voice calls from the end of the corridor, and they all turn to see a grimacing Ironhide approach. "What did you do this time, Wheeljack?"

"Nothing." The inventor answers with a pout, before smiling widely again. "They didn't know about the Dinobots, so I'm telling them."

"You mean they don't know they're our newsparks?"

"Our?" Spike repeats with a squeak, gaping up at the red mech.

"I'm Sludge's carrier-creator." The teenager plops down next to his dumbstruck father. "Huh. So they didn't."

"Yeah, that's what I thought too when they asked me if I had creations. I mean, what are the chances?" Wheeljack asks, shrugging nonchalantly. "Well, since it's not a secret, let me tell you Cliffjumper is Snarl's carrier-creator, and Sunstreaker is Swoop's."

"Which is one of the reasons we thought you already knew. Sideswipe loves to talk about Swoop."

"I thought he did that because he's a Flier." The boy whispers, but knows he's been heard when both Autobots exchange amused looks.

"That's one of the reasons, yes. After all, 'Streaker isn't telling anyone about his ancestry, and neither is Sideswipe, but none of them would ever reveal anything about merging partners, so… Mechs like to talk." Ironhide explains with a lopsided grin while Wheeljack snickers.

"And what wild talks those are. Ever heard about one of those 'the twins _really_ like Fliers' comment?" Spike's mouth falls open, yet another joke he'd thought was about one thing turning out to be a completely different one.

Both Autobots break out laughing at his face.

"Come on, let's get you distracted before you burn a connection or something." Wheeljack adds with a chuckle, standing up before grabbing one human in each servo.

"But… I thought you _built_ the Dinobots?" The teenager asks after a moment, pushing away unwanted scenes involving golden plating and wings to focus on more important—or less scarring—things.

"That's because we don't have Newspark Protoforms here. The adaptable pieces we had were too little for the three we knew were maturing, especially once I confirmed I was carrying twins, so we had to improvise." The Lancia explains, his tone more subdued, almost to the point it sounds a bit sad. "We gave them the best frames we could, taking into account they would be newsparks thrown into the battlefield, but we had to make do with the processors. We may be able to get them some real Newspark Protoforms to transfer their sparks to so that they can get a real Cybertronian frame once the war is over, but… we can't replace the processors." And that is explanation enough to confirm Wheeljack is feeling sad and why.

"They're great mechs, but their processing capabilities are stunted. They can think, and quite complexly, but it takes a lot of energy to do so, and their processors aren't built to sustain too much at the same time. That's why we decided to sacrifice some small routines, like speech, so that they could think more, even if they talked slightly incoherently. Shame, Sludge is quite bright when he decides to stay still and think a bit more than usual." Ironhide adds, more frustrated than saddened.

"I'd say. If we'd had real Newpark Protoforms we'd probably have another scientist around now." The Lancia adds with a smile, and the red mech returns it with a crooked grin.

"Hey, he's my creation. What did you expect?"

"What's a carrier-creator?" Sparkplug asks after some seconds, when it becomes clear the conversation is over.

"It's the name the creator receives when the newspark is a split-spark, since there has been no other mech to participate in the process, no co-creator."

"Creator is a far broader term than 'father'. It's more like 'parent' because of the fact a newspark can be created by a mech alone, so that there's only one creator. However, to distinguish in the event of a spark merge newspark, the mech that carries the newspark is the carrier, while the other creator is just called that, creator." Wheeljack elaborates, and Spike hurries to get his notebook out to add that new data to his notes.

"Nice to know." He mutters once he's done, and, when he looks up, he sees the door to the Rec Room open. "Any other _essential_ piece of information that we should be aware of?"

"As far as we know, no. Unless you want details on interfacing…" The teenager shakes his head so quickly that his vision swims for a moment when he stops, just before he's deposited on a table. "Then no, nothing more."

"Whoa Wheeljack! What's the deal?" Jazz asks, appearing from seemingly nowhere and making the humans jump with startled yelps. "Oops, sorry. Autobot here, nothing special or remarkably different when comparing to when we last saw each other except for the dented shoulder that's no longer dented." He adds sheepishly, taking a step away from the table and cheerily gesturing to his intact shoulder plate. "Bumblebee is with Mirage running some drills, so I decided to take a break."

He's so glaringly different from the Jazz of his nightmare that Spike only realizes his overtly exaggerated cheeriness is because of that when he starts to ponder if the saboteur hasn't received a really hard knock to the helm to act that way.

When he finally notices, he has to laugh.

"It's alright, Jazz. Thanks anyway." He answers between chuckles, and the Head of Spec Ops finally closes the distance and sits down.

"Anytime, little buddy."

"I have the feeling we're missing something." Ironhide comments to Wheeljack, who shakes his head with confusion.

"Spike hits harder than you 'Hide. Ratchet fixed my shoulder plate, but I'm not sure he could put me back together if I startled this deceivingly harmless human again." The saboteur answers cheekily, receiving a glare from the Weapons Specialist. "So, what's the deal with the facemask, Wheeljack?"

"Spike and Sparkplug wanted to see my faceplate." The inventor answers calmly, and the black and white mech nods.

"Hey, Jazz." The teenager calls, attracting the Head of Spec Ops' attention, and has to discard two sentences before finally finding one that would ask what he wants without offending anyone. "Do you have optics under the visor?"

Though that one sounds quite tactless too.

"Nope. Cybertronian have two settings for visual sensors arrangement." He answers calmly, lifting two dactyls to explain before folding one back. "Arranged in optics or arranged in visual band. Aka, visor." He adds while pulling the other dactyl away before gesturing to his faceplate. "And yours truly was lucky enough to be gifted with this handsome arrangement."

All the other on and around the table snort.

"Is there a major difference?"

"Many. Optics allow continued visual input even if one is offline, while visors tend to become inactive when they are damaged. However, visors allow a wider range of wavelength readout, but optics have farther optimal reach." Wheeljack explains instead, and, slightly confused, Spike turns to the amused saboteur.

"If you close one eye, you still have the other to see. Visors don't have another 'eye' to see through if they go offline for whatever reason." He explains, and the boy nods at that. "Also, optics can see further more clearly than visors, but visors can see many spectrums, like heat vision or radiation readouts, that optics normally can't access."

"Cool."

"Quite hot, actually." Jazz answers with a wink, and it isn't until he sees the sharp grin slowly growing on the black and white mech's faceplate that he realizes what he's talking about.

He can only laugh at that.

"Figures _you_ would say that." Sparkplug muses with a chuckle, shaking his head, and the saboteur leans against the table cockily.

"Just telling the truth, my mech."

"Showoff." Ironhide mutters with a scoff, shoving the smaller mech off, but Jazz just whirls around on his seat to rest his elbows on the table and his helm on his fists, looking down at the humans with amusement and curiosity.

"Anything else that requires my amazing translation skills? Or my unending knowledge?"

Wheeljack snickers as the Weapons Specialist grimaces, and, taking up his offer, Spike leaves through the written pages of his notebook.

Some recounts of past adventures, a list of the main points of Cybertronian creation, the Legend behind the frame types, his notes on Road Runners—

Road Runners.

"Jazz, what's your frame type?" He asks, looking up from the pages to the incredibly amused saboteur.

"Why'd you ask that?"

"'Cause I don't know." He deadpans, and the black and white mech nods.

"Fair enough. I'm an Hybrid." After a blink, Spike frowns and turns back to his notebook, trying to find out which frame type was 'Hybrid'… but the Head of Spec Ops' laughter makes him look up again in confusion. "I meant literally. I'm a mix of other frame types."

The teenager's jaw falls open.

"That's possible?"

"Yup. A newspark is created when all the essential coding and enough energy are put together, right? Well, the essential coding doesn't have to necessarily be all of the same frame type, nor does the non-essential coding. A mech can be a Minibot in his essential coding but a Cargo in the non-essential, with which you'll end with a Minibot-sized Cargo, or a Minibot with Cargo characteristics. Like Huffer."

"Huffer is a…" But Spike cuts himself even before he finishes the question, because Huffer is a Minibot that turns into a semi truck. "Didn't see that coming."

"Which is why I told you." Jazz answers cheekily, and the teenager snorts, going to his frame type list to add about Hybrids—and stops mid-sentence.

"Wait. If Huffer is a Hybrid, why do you call him a Minibot?"

"Because every Hybrid mech has a primary frame type, with added details, parts or capabilities from another. It's just that sometimes the secondary frame type is more visible than the first. So, we have Huffer, a Minibot with Cargo additions."

"How do you know he's not a Minibot-sized Cargo?"

"He's not Cargo enough." All three mechs answer in unison, and father and son exchange a confused look.

"It's a Cybertronian thing. Cargo are easily recognizable by any other mech." Wheeljack explains with a small smile when he sees their faces. "Even when they're as grumpy as Ironhide here."

"Har har."

"You're a Cargo?" Both humans ask at the same time, startled.

"Model Covered Flatbed, ridiculous as it sounds in your Earthen languages." The red mech answers with a nod, straightening proudly. "Tough, great endurance, and not big enough to be as much of a target as Prime."

"But with a far nastier temper than any other Cargo model." Jazz chirps, leaning back sharply to avoid a punch from the Weapons Specialist, smirking all the while as the larger mech scowls.

"So, what's your main frame type?" Spike asks the saboteur, trying to keep his chuckling at bay, after he finishes his notes on Hybrids, Huffer and Ironhide, turning to look at the Head of Spec Ops.

His almost feral smirk makes his quickly go over his words, trying to see what he's said so that he may turn it back.

He's just asked about Jazz's frame type, hasn't he?

… The Rec Room is silent.

Utterly unnerved, the teenager looks around, finding all optics and visors turned their way as the mechs listen attentively, not even trying to be discreet.

"Did I say something?" He whimpers, turning to the equally alert Wheeljack and Ironhide.

"Nah, don't worry about them." Jazz answers with a dismissing wave, leaning closer to the boy still with that wide smirk on his faceplate. "You know what? Since you're one of my best buddies, I'll tell you about my main frame type." Spike gulps, but can't help but lean forward a bit at what he know recognizes as a giddily secretive expression, if such a thing is possible. "My main frame type… is confidential information."

The collective groan that fills the Rec Room is enough to make the teenager jump, before he finally processes what the Head of Spec Ops has said.

"What?!" He asks, slightly miffed.

"It's a High Clearance piece of data, and you don't have the clearance for it, I'm afraid. Only Autobot High Command and the Chief Medical Officer are cleared to access those files." The black and white mech answers with a cheery smile.

"So just Optimus, Prowl, Ratchet and you know what you are? Isn't that unfair?"

"Frame type is a key element of a mech. A lot of how they behave, act and are able to do depends of or is effected by their frame type. Information is power, and knowing is half the battle. It's easy to know such a detail with Vector Sigma created or pure line mechs, like Mirage, but Hybrids are a whole other deal, 'cause no two of them show the same characteristics nor with the same degree, but some times they don't even have any visible or scannable traits, which means not only do you need to know what's the main frame type, but what's the secondary one, what amount of the mech it influences and to which degree, as well as if there are any tertiary or even quaternary frame types. Which, to tell the truth, is almost just a theory, but I seem to recall there was at least a couple of listed designations about both examples. Usually, they're Triple Changers." Jazz continues calmly, once more leaning against the table. "So, you're one of my best buddies and a great being, in general and when it comes to humanity, but for my sake and that of the Autobot faction, which includes you, your father, any other relatives and your friends, I can't disclose that."

"Huh."

"Want me to repeat that so you can write it down?"

"Give me a moment."

After about a minute, Spike manages to shake enough of the shock off for the saboteur to explain things more slowly.

Once he's done, however, the teenager can find his mind reeling again, but this time in awe.

"You guys are a lot more complex than you look at a first glance. And you look really complex with just one look."

"We're hot like that."

"If I didn't know you were joking, I would correct you."

"Hey, I have to show some way that I've mastered the use of English, and what better way than to make use of idioms and second meanings?"

"Not cool, mech."

"I know." Jazz answers with another wink, and Spike laughs again.

So long as he doesn't get too specific with how hot or why anyone is, and how he could 'deal' with it, the teenager feels like he can survive with his brain unscarred.

Though there are times he wishes the Autobots didn't know how little the humans are aware of when it comes to creation, or that the boy himself still hadn't realized that.

Life was a lot easier when he didn't have to look for hidden meanings.

* * *

**AN:** At last I get this out. My apologies, Ironhide didn't want to cooperate.

First, we get the whole 'horror' thing out of the way. Once more, Jazz is quoting IDW's _More Than Meets the Eye_.

Second, we get one part of the dare out of the way. Now, only Spike vs Optimus' facemask remain. By the way, Wheeljack's scars are from his _Prime_ counterpart. It was a joke thing that wasn't supposed to be posted, but it quickly grew an explanation that I couldn't say no to, so it staid.

Third... Yes, I went _there_. I just can't accept the fact the Dinobots are sparkless robots. I _can't_. The only other explanation, then, was that they are Cybertronian, but with that there came quite a bit of questions. Since I don't know if/when it will come up in further chapters, I'll answer the only unanswered query that Wheeljack and Ironhide didn't clear here: The reason why so many newsparks popped up in the first place (three in one go and two more later) is because of the four million year long stasis. The sparks were running at a low, as in, _really_ low, but since they didn't have to deal with the frame, what did they do? Replicate coding. And then, the volcano erupts, and the _Ark_ is suddenly not only reformatting the frames, but giving them an energy boost the likes of which they haven't received in four million years. In the space of time it takes the sparks to have the processor debugged and everything that the _Ark_'s self repair ray thingy didn't deal with ready, there was _a lot_ of extra energy around. And energy boost plus extra coding copies means newsparks. With probabilities being what they are, most of them were just reabsorbed, but two mechs managed to get viable ones, with one of those newsparks splitting into twins that, lucky Wheeljack, were both viable. So, taking into account the difference in time meassurements, we have the Autobots being strayed on Earth, sending the Decepticons underwater, and realizing they are carrying. However, even after the whole 'waking up' thing, there are still lots of extra coding 'swimming around' in the Autobots' intermediate layer, so, until the sparks and frames finally dealt with it all, there were some more non-viable newsparks... until Sunstreaker and Cliffjumper. Congratulations, it's a Dinobot!

End of the explanation.

As of for why the carrier-creators are who they are, it may be explained further on, so I'll just leave it at their names.

The thing about Sludge being a really intelligent mech is from _Shattered Glass_ (or from some kind of _Shattered Glass_ fanfic, I can't remember if it's really canon), in which he's some kind of genius.

Visors and optics. You don't know how slagging _long_ I've been waiting to write this ("Hey, Jazz. Do you have optics under the visor?" "Nope. Cybertronian have two settings for visual sensors arrangement. Arranged in optics or arranged in visual band. Aka, visor.") I have nothing against visors in the human sense of something to cover the eyes with, like sunglasses or an addition to the helm, but I just _can't see it_ (no pun intended). I mean, there are so many mechs with visors, and you're telling me they're just 'wearing sunglasses'? Not. Computing. So there, visor _or_ optics, not visor_ and_ optics. Glad to have that out of my system._  
_

Hybrids. They came up as soon as did the frame type division. The perfect explanation for the oddballs (and Jazz), like Huffer and Powerglide (and Jazz), so there you have them (and Jazz).

Hope that mess of information wasn't too much!

**Qwertzu:** I swear it wasn't my intention to have a 180 degree turn from 'humor' to 'horror', it was supposed to be an independant chapter kind of thing, but ever since it grew a plot, this fic has becomes hopelessly untamable. I'm glad at least you readers like this, because Primus knows I'm having a hard time dealing with it (along all the other plot bunnies that keep attacking me, darn pests!). In Spike's defense, he's a teenager in the middle of an alien civil war and is dealing with things completely out of his depth here. But yes, he can be thoughtless. Hopefully, he'll learn. Also, hopeless Seeker fan here too XP Thank you for the reviews ^^


	13. Gone with the Wind

Windcharger and Hound are in the brig when Spike enters, talking about some kind of beach, if the words 'sea' and 'sand' are any indication, and barely spare the time to give the human some wide kind smiles and a couple of waves before resuming their conversation.

Knowing how they both are, the teenager just returns the gestures and walks to the only occupied cell.

Thundercracker gives him the most withering look he's ever seen, and he's glad his Sigma Ability is not shooting energy beams from his optics, because he would be a tiny pile of ash if he could. Or maybe not even that.

"Er… hi?"

Instead of answering, the Seeker keeps glaring.

For a couple of seconds, Spike thinks over his decision once more, before taking a look at the energy bars and, steeling himself, takes a couple of steps closer while still being out of grabbing range—and sits down.

Impossible as such a feat seems, Thundercracker's glare heats further.

"Hi. I was hoping I could ask a couple of questions?"

"Go. Away."

"Aw, come on. These ones will be innocent."

"Is speaking your language not enough? Go. Away."

"Anyway, I was wondering—"

"Drop _dead_."

"… That's something I really didn't expect from you."

"You should, knowing who my Trineleader is." And there's a lot more poison in that sentence that in any previous one.

Spike frowns as he ponders that.

"Are you… mad about the thing with the Spark Eaters?"

Thundercracker _snarls_.

For a fraction of a second, the teenager freezes, feeling his time has come, but then he realizes the Seeker hasn't moved and that the bars are still in place.

And Hound and Windcharger's conversation has stopped.

A look over his shoulder shows them both staring _really seriously_ at the Flier, guns in their servos that hadn't been there before.

Spike can feel relief course through his veins at that, before turning to the blue and white mech.

"Look, this time I just want to know some more about Seekers. The frame type, not personally." He tells him soothingly, hoping to calm him down so that he can fill yet another page of his notebook.

"Ask the Shuttle."

_"Trust issues."_

"Not possible." And that finally earns him something other than smoldering hate and the promise of a slow and really painful death as the Flier turns to him with annoyance and what looks like the tiniest hint of confusion.

"The Doorwingers."

_"Seekers? What kind of information would you want about Seekers that I could have? Surely you know more than I do."_

_"Well, it isn't as if I could ask Bluestreak."_

_"How about Prowl? … Yeah, right. I didn't say anything."_

_"Why can't you ask Prowl about Seekers?"_

_"Well, he wouldn't answer, so it's kind of a loss of time to ask."_

_"And the other reason?"_

_"Let's just say that the war has hurt every bot."_

"Not possible." He just repeats, a bit softer than before, and Thundercracker's optics darken again, hate and disgust and ire once more on his faceplate, though somehow more intense in the way they're slowly festering…

And directed at the two other mechs in the brig.

Who, to Spike's surprise, return the same dark and angered snarls.

"Don't you even try." Windcharger hisses, and the Seeker audibly growls.

"What good would it do? You're _Autobots_." The Flier rumbles, and Spike's own bones start to tremble with the subsonic undertone of his voice.

Freaked out, and fearing for his own well-being, he quickly stands up.

"Sorry about that shouldn't have said anything gotta go bye!" He squeaks before rushing to the door—

The thrumming stops just before he reaches it, cut so suddenly that it freezes him in his spot.

Slowly, he turns around.

Thunercracker is dead serious and his optics are still a bright hellish orange as he stares at the Autobots, but they soften to neutrality when he turns to the human.

"Sit, it may take a while."

In shock, Spike approaches the cell once more and takes his previous position cross-legged on the ground, as far away from the bars as before.

"You're really going to…"

"It isn't as if there's anyone else to do it." The Flier scoffs, directing a quick glare at the guards before once more calming down as he looks back at the boy. "What is it that you wanted to know?"

"About Seekers in general. Main characteristics, different models and their distinguishing features, that kind of thing."

Thundercracker frowns in contemplation as he leans more comfortably against the wall… before he stands up from the metal slab Cybertronians call a bed to join Spike sitting cross-legged on the floor just out of reach from the bars.

It's… a quite reassuring gesture, making the teenager relax with the almost subconscious knowledge that the Seeker considers him an equal, or something like that.

He double-checks the distance to make sure he isn't really in grabbing range before making such an assumption, of course.

"What do you know?"

"That you're Fliers, work in three-mech squads called Trines, suffer quick mood changes—" The Seeker seems amused by that last one and what the heck, it isn't as if he'll get an answer from the Autobots— "—and everybody expects Doorwingers to know about you."

Unwilling to turn around, he nevertheless knows what kind of expression is on Hound and Windcharger's faceplates thanks to the horrified way they call his name.

This way, however, he doesn't miss the almost proud look and tiny smile on Thundercracker's face.

"Doorwingers are ground-bound Cybertronian of medium size, with some of the fastest models, only behind some Road Runners. However, despite the similarities between both frame types, their essential coding is most similar to that of Seekers." Spike's mouth falls open. "What did you think their door_wings_ are?" And here, the Flier gestures to one of his own wings. "They're the closest thing to a wing besides wings themselves, with a high degree of mobility and sensitivity, like ours, thanks to the great amount of sensors in them. Which is controlled by essential coding. However, they can dial their sensitivity down, so that they don't need to lock them to dampen input."

"Lock?"

"Haven't you wondered why we almost never move our wings, in comparison to Doorwingers?" The teenager opens his mouth, but closes it to settle for a nod instead. "That's because we have the highest amount of sensors per unit of surface in all Cybertronian, second only to a Medic's servos, and they're all highly sensitive. They have to be, to allow us to take in all variables when in the air fast enough for us to act, and we _are_ the fastest Cybertronian ever. However, that means that even the slightest touch is… uncomfortable, to say the least. And since the lowest degree of sensitivity is still quite high, that would make ground stay and movement _not pleasant_. So, we possess an alternate mechanism to cut the input of data through our wings, by 'locking' them. Essentially, we move them to a kind of deadlock where the connection between the wing sensors and the main sensory net is blocked almost completely, resulting in the inability to move our wings without disengaging the lock, but with the benefit that we don't feel every single slagging _shiver_ of the mech on the other side of the room." He explains, scowling at the end. "Needless to say, they're still really sensitive, but at least it's a tolerable sensitive."

The bit of information that comes after that is completely unwanted, so Spike shakes his head to get rid of images of a dark blue mech with white wings in his servos before turning his attention back to the topic.

"And that has to do with Doorwingers how?"

"As I was saying, both wings and doorwings are extremely sensitive, but while us Fliers can only dampen them with a lock, Doorwingers have a more precise sensory net, and can dial them to the same muddled point while conserving their full mobility." Thundercracker resumes calmly, not missing a step, and Spike goes back to his notes, pondering a bit before writing things in short and clear sentences.

When he's done, one word catches his attention.

Fliers.

"Wait. You said Doorwingers are closely related to Seekers, but what you've said about wings applies to all Fliers." He repeats, looking up to be welcomed by another tiny proud smile.

"Yes, because Seekers are, after all, Fliers. Now, the points unique to the Seeker and Doorwinger frame type aren't the sensory panels… but the processor."

"Processor?" He exclaims, startled, and Thundercracker's smile grows to a smirk.

"Yes. Seeker possess the fastest processor speed of all frame types, on average, followed closely only by those of Doorwingers. Why do you think that sharpshooter of yours can speak so quickly without losing track of what he's saying?" Spike's mouth falls open once more. "Or the Head Tactician. I believe I need not say anything about him." The teenager shakes his head slowly, and the Flier calms down. "That would also explain Seeker 'mood swings'. We think fast, faster than your average Cybertronian, so in a small time span we may have worked ourselves into a rage and reasoned out of it, which, I guess, does look like we are 'moody'." He adds, and straightens a bit when the human nods in understanding. "Back to Seekers and Doorwingers. The sparks are also a common point, since both our frame types have some of the highest energetic ones, but the decisive common point is, once more, in the processor. We have a special communications package."

"A what?"

"A… secret language, I believe you would say."

"No way!"

"One between Doorwingers and Fliers, and one exclusive of Doorwingers and Seekers. No other mech possesses them. And while Flier Hybrids may have the Flier communications package, no Seeker or Doorwinger Hybrid has ever had our unique one. Not that there are that many Seeker Hybrids, anyway." Spike busies himself by writing what he's learnt as he lets his brain sort through it.

"But can't… can't it be deciphered? And mimicked?"

"We use wings, engines and voice box. And some of the gestures are so subtle or ambiguous that only another with the communications package would even notice them." Thundercracker explains calmly, though there's pride easily heard in his voice. "And it is spark-coded, not processor-coded, so not even Medics can get to it. They know if it is there thanks to their scans, but they can't touch it. Spark-coding remains only in the spark, and only damage to the spark itself may erase it. Its removal usually causes the mech's deactivation and its consequent erasure, but, if such a successful extraction was to happen, I have it from a reliable source that the transplanted mech wouldn't be able to activate it or would end heavily damaged by the energy consumption needed to decipher it, maybe even deactivated himself. And in the most optimistic of scenarios, he wouldn't be able to use it either, since wings are an essential part to both sending and receiving messages using that kind of communications package."

"Amazing." The only word to describe the Seeker's reaction to that simple word and the awed tone is 'preening'.

Like a bird fluffing out their chest feathers and straightening, just without the feathers thing.

The proud smirk is starting to look like one worthy of Starscream, so wide and sharp it's growing.

"How about models?"

"There's not as many variation of models in either the Seeker or the Doorwinger frame type as there is in others, but there's a lot of variety within each model. Those you know would be the Seeker model, which is mine, Starscream and Skywarp's, and the Conehead model."

"You mean that's not a nickname?" Thundercracker shakes his helm with dark amusement, and Spike quickly looks away to write things down.

"As for Doorwingers, you know the High Speed model, which is the sharpshooter and that blue and red mech's." And, pen at the ready, the Seeker falls silent.

"And Prowl's? You know, the Tactician?" He asks, looking up, only to find the Flier frowning.

"The thing with Doorwingers is that most of their models aren't easily recognized on the outside. At a first glance, I'd say he's a High Speed too, but… Starscream thinks he's not."

Any other time, Spike would have made some kind of joke about trusting the Decepticon Air Commander about anything.

He knows better now.

"What does he think he is?" He asks softly instead, and waits patiently while the Seeker remains lost in thought.

"The main model of Doorwinger. Balance Finder."

"What's the difference between them?"

"… I don't know." The teenager feels astonishment wash over him as the Flier scowls softly. "Technically I do, but I've never met a Balance Finder. They were hard enough to come by before the war, least of all now. They're supposed to be more Seeker-like than the other Doorwinger models, who lean more towards their Grounder side. That would make them the real middle ground between Seeker and Road Runner, Flier and Grounder. High speed and nearly impossible maneuverability, fastest processor and highest energetic spark, better tuned sensors… yet still ground-bound and without our characteristic chaotic being and organization, more like the Grounders' meticulous 'everything in place to clear out a way because we can't fly' thing, instead of 'things where they are better and never mind where we're going to put our pedes because we can literally walk on air'. I know he's your Head Tactician and that he's the best at what he does, but… it feels like he's lacking to be a Balance Finder. Starscream would know, but I have no idea."

"And it isn't like you can just walk up to him and ask." Thundercracker nods almost absentmindedly, and Spike uses the chance to write down the new information, making a mental note to ask Prowl himself. "Hey, huh… Thanks. For everything." He adds after a moment, nervously staring at his own hands instead of looking up at the Seeker.

Until he hears what sounds like a resigned sigh. When he lifts his head, he's met with the Flier crossing his arms against his cockpit and tilting his head up while looking down at him with an unreadable expression.

"You got Starscream in trouble. I should be angry with you."

"I didn't mean to." He whispers, feeling ashamed under that unnerving dark orange gaze.

"Which is exactly why I can't be angry with you. Starscream isn't either, but I'd watch out for Skywarp. I can't promise he won't try to repay you with a water balloon filled with mud or something of the like." He scrunches his nose in distaste at that, before clearing his head of such options to finally realize what has been said.

"How do you know?"

"Besides the fact we've been a Trine for nine million years? We're _Trine_. Trine aren't three Fliers flying together, nor three Seekers that are nobody to each other. Seekers need to be a Wing for a really long time before they are Trine, or there has to be a spark-call, that the three sparks are compatible enough to allow the Trine bond. Trine bonds are unique to Seekers, and are three-way bonds. That means I can feel what Starscream and Skywarp are feeling, same as they can feel what I do and each other, at the same time. That's how I knew you'd said something about Spark Eaters, and why I know Skywarp hasn't yet been convinced to not deal some kind of petty revenge. And why they know you were really sincere and didn't mean to get my Trineleader in trouble, because I know that's how you feel. That's why we're so good in the air too. We can literally feel what the other is going to do and act accordingly."

"I thought you didn't like each other."

"You don't need to like your Trinemates to be Trine. You just need the bond." The Seeker answers easily, calmly, and Spike quickly takes some notes about that—

_"Don't you _dare_ assume what you're talking about. You know _nothing_! There's no stopping those things, no restraining or subduing or even _hoping_! They can feel you, track you down, ambush from the most unlike of spots and devour your spark without even touching you, without even getting close enough to _do_ so! It's only destruction and pain and if I hadn't closed the Trine bond Thundercracker and Skywarp wouldn't—"_

"Can you… close bonds?" His voices trembles slightly, and he's sure the mech has noticed because the stare he's giving him is a bit curious under the calculating look.

"Yes. You block the energy being sent and received, and the mech at the other end can't feel you anymore."

"Has… Has Starscream ever done that to you? To Skywarp?"

"The war has been going for a long time. We've all had to close the Trine bond at one point or another."

In the middle of pondering whether or not ask his next question, the door to the brig opens.

Its hiss breaks the silence like a bullet, and Spike almost jumps to his feet in surprise, instead turning around to see who has come inside.

Who have, actually, because Jazz is standing calmly with a lazy smile on his faceplate next to the door, not hidden by a scowling Ironhide.

"Alright, Decepticreep. Megatron bailed you out, so time to take out the trash." Thundercracker hisses softly at that, glaring hatefully at the Autobot.

"About time I was let out of this waste disposal plant." The red mech growls menacingly, and the teenager quickly stands up to get out of the way, walking to be by Jazz's side.

"What are you doing here, little buddy?" The saboteur asks softly as they watch Ironhide walk inside to cuff a now standing Seeker, who does nothing but glare darkly at the Grounder as his wrists are bound together.

"I wanted to ask Thundercracker some questions about Seekers."

"Could I see those later?"

"Yeah, sure. I doubt he would have told me anything you guys didn't already know."

"Thanks Spike. Well, I've got to go now, Prime wants me to deliver our flightless birdie here." He adds chirpily as Ironhide gets to their side with their prisoner, who spears the Head of Spec Ops with a dry glare.

"Thundercracker?" The Seeker looks lazily down at the human, who fidgets nervously once more. "Will you tell Starscream I'm sorry?"

Silence.

"He already knows."

"Please?"

"… Will do."

When Spike looks up, they're already gone.

* * *

_Alright. Now or never._

Taking a deep breath, Spike rings the doorbell.

"Come in."

As soon as both him and his father take a step closer, the door opens, closing at their backs once they enter the office.

Optimus is already waiting for them, standing next to the datapad-filled desk.

Which makes Spike feel bad.

"It's not important, so if you're busy…"

"It is nothing that cannot wait." The Autobot answers, optics pale and helm tilted in amusement. "In fact, I could use the distraction."

However, the teenager can't get himself to talk.

Until Sparkplug pokes him, and he almost steps forward as a result.

"Can we see your facemask?"

Optimus reboots his optics in surprise.

And, finally Spike realizes what he's said.

"I meant your face. Without the facemask. If it's not too much trouble. Or personal. Or hiding a gruesome old injury that—I better shut up now." He can feel himself blushing, and hearing the older human trying to keep his chuckling silent is not helping.

Why did he decide to ask the twins if anyone had seen the Prime without the mask? And why did he think listening to their theories was a good idea?

Optimus reboots his optics again… and kneels down with a purring chuckle.

"Of course."

Instead of sliding away in one piece, the facemask splits from the middle before the halves move back to the sides.

The smile is just as small but gentle as he'd imagined it, and the Autobot's faceplate is a pristine untouched pale silver.

Somehow, it makes him look… older?

"Is there anything more?" He asks, voice rumbling as always, and Spike just shakes his head.

The facemask clicks back in place.

"Why do you wear it all the time?"

"It is a symbol of who I am. Of Optimus Prime." The Cargo answers calmly, but there's something in his wording…

"Of who you are?" He repeats, if just to try and get a clue of why he feels there's something weird in the sentence.

"Yes. I was not always a Prime, and this is definitely something I did not have before."

"You weren't?" He questions, eyes widening as he's handed the answer to his previous musings.

"I was a dock worker."

"You, Optimus Prime, Leader of the Autobots and Megatron's aft-kicker, were a _dock worker_?"

"Just like you, Spike and Sparkplug Witwicky, liaisons of an alien race and heroes of the Autobots, were oilrig workers. Your origins do not determine who you become. Only _you_ can do that."

"And luck."

"You were given a chance, yes, but you were the ones that chose to take it." And that makes Spike swell with pride, something that, judging by Optimus' glow in his optics, makes the Autobot smile warmly. "Now, I believe it is getting late, and I really need to get out of this office. Would you like me to drive you to your residence?"

"What about the paperwork?"

"As I said, there is nothing urgent, so I believe Prowl would agree with me that a stop would do me good." The humans chuckle at that as they walk to the entrance.

"Say, Optimus, what Doorwinger model is Prowl?" The boy asks, the SIC's name reminding him of that pending question.

"I am afraid that is a High Clearance piece of information." The teenager groans.

"What is it with you and High Clearance? Prowl's model is High Clearance, Jazz's _frame type_ is High Clearance… Are you High Clearance too?"

"No, I am a Trailer Roller model of the Cargo frame type."

"… One out of three. Yay." Optimus chuckles. "Starscream's a Seeker, Soundwave is an… what did Blaster say, Convertible?"

"Adaptative."

"Yeah, that. What's Megatron?"

"Weapon Modified model of the Tread Roller frame type."

"He was _built_ a weapon?" Spike can feel his jaw fall to the ground when Optimus nods.

"Yes, but during the Golden Age… I believe things could have been different had the Senate not enforced the Caste Division with the zeal they did. Being forced against ones function is hard, but being unable to change it for something more desirable is even harder."

"Huh?"

"What is a weapon to do during peace times?" With those last words, Optimus transforms.

When they get inside the cab, the radio is on, and even though the music is soft, it's a clear sign that the Autobot rather not talk more about the previous topic.

So, after exchanging a look, Sparkplug brings up the last basketball match, and the Prime is talking again as soon as he has the chance.

Ah, the blessings of sports…

* * *

**AN:** And there goes another info-dump, this time of two frame types and their connection. Plus, Optimus without facemask, brief as the moment was. One less thing Spike has to worry about.

**Qwertzu:** I believe the correct plural would be 'mecha', though that's just a feeling. However, since in Spanish the plural is made by adding an 's', and I'm Spanish, I feel more comfortable with 'mechs'. Feel free to use whatever you like best ^^ I'm glad I scared you—er, I mean, I'm _sorry_ I scared you, that nightmare scene wasn't meant to scare, oh no *whistles innocently* But, I'm glad you liked the 'sneaking Jazz' thing and Prowl's 'immunity' (hope this chapter explained why Prowl is able to 'see' Jazz coming). I've also read some fics in which Jazz hides red optics under the visor, and I really like them. There's absolutely no problem with mechs wearing visors when they have optics if there is a good reason, but what bothers me is the fact that red-optics!Jazz may have a reason, and maybe two other of the visor-wearing mechs do so too, but the rest? Who has time for fashion in a war? Plus, as I see it, optics lenses are not a coded in feature, they can choose and change their optic color anytime. So yeah, my brain came up with that. And of course Jazz's _frame type_ is confidential, only Jazz could make something as trivial as that, which would be like skin color to a human, a confidential thing and get away with it XP


	14. Broken Bonds

Unlike the last time he met them face to face, Frenzy and Rumble don't look murderous.

That doesn't mean Spike is calm and relaxed.

"The disk. Now." The red and black Cassette orders, extending a servo, and the teenager exchanges a look with Chip.

The sound of explosions, blaster fire and engine roars is muted inside the thick laboratory walls and its twisting corridors, but it's still audible.

This Decepticon raid isn't about energy, but weapons. And the schematics of such a new tool, or part of it, are only in Chip Chase's hands in the shape of an inconspicuous blue disk, because they've deleted them from the main computer.

The lab, with the exception of the two teenagers and the Cassettes, is deserted.

And structurally sound, fortunately, since no other Cybertronian has decided to come inside.

With a barely noticeable nod, the humans make their decision, with Chip tossing the disk down with enough strength to dent, and Spike stomping on it until just slivers of plastic and ruined microchips remain.

Two pale pink visors observe them before the Decepticons lunge, pushing the boys away, but judging by Frenzy's angered beeping—cursing, most likely—they've done their job well.

"You'll pay for that." Rumble hisses, arms turning into pile-drivers—

Spike yelps as the small earthquake throws him back to the ground, and as parts of the ceiling start to fall, the Cassettes run out.

The teenager rushes to Chip's side, helping him get back on his chair and pushing them away through the miraculously intact corridor, back to the entrance of the isolated laboratory and the grass-covered field the battle is taking place in.

Without Rumble smashing the ground, though, the building stays standing, even if there are cracks and small chunks falling from the walls and ceiling.

Why wouldn't they finish the job?

Knowing better than to rush out, Spike stops just at the entrance, both him and Chip covering their eyes from the cloud of dust seeping inside.

When it clears, the battlefield comes into view.

Not unlike any other he's previously seen, and with no mech collapsing without apparent reason.

And then, something gray fills their view.

"Spike! Chip! You're alright! Wait, you are, aren't you? Because you're covered by dirt but there doesn't seem to be any leaking or dents but humans are weird so I don't really know and did you manage to find the information the Decepticons were looking for? What did you do with it? Do you have it with you? Did you delete it from—" And the relieved and slightly amused smiles the teenagers have on their faces vanish when the chatty Autobot's back explodes.

Bluestreak shrieks in agony, one doorwing pulling down while the other dangles by just a couple of thick wires, Energon falling down the plating in tiny but multiple rivulets.

Spike quickly turns back to the battlefield, just to see Mixmaster with a slightly smoking blaster pointed in their direction—

And a horrified expression on his faceplate, optics so pale that the boy can't distinguish their color.

With a murderous roar, something jumps on the Constructicon, who doesn't have time to even turn around, before lime green plating starts flying with metal shrieks and Energon sprays, the Decepticon's pained howls stopping after his arm is ripped off his frame, wires dangling in a macabre display.

Spike is more afraid of the pink-stained black and white frame and the flash of pure white where it should be blue, because it doesn't look like the mech is about to stop.

They don't say anything, and sometimes it's hard to believe when the battles on Earth are as they are, but Special Operations are supposed to be saboteurs, spies and, unlikely as such a thing seems, assassins.

He's seen some of the looks the Decepticons give Jazz, and the way one of the Reflector components ran away from the Autobot when he surprised him once is more than proof enough that, despite his easy-going behavior, the Head of Spec Ops is _dangerous_.

But even Jazz is looking horrified as Prowl sinks his servos into Mixmaster's shredded back to keep ripping him apart, doorwings held high and wide and a snarl so full of rage on his faceplate that would be better on the face of a demon.

With an incensed roar, Scrapper rushes forward to defend his Gestaltmate, the Autobot SIC whirling around with completely pink servos curled like claws—

And something falling from the sky slams the Constructicon to the ground with a loud clang, stopping the others at his back as if they'd slammed into one of Trailbreaker's force fields, and Prowl is left glaring into an equally snarling Starscream, wings spread as high and wide as his doorwings.

Time itself seems to stop.

The Datsun's engine is roaring menacingly, and the Seeker moves so that he's standing in front of a still prone but active Scrapper, if his pinkish visor is any indication, before his turbines come to life to answer the animalistic sound, dirt swirling around his pedes.

A hissing sound like that of a chainsaw escapes through Prowl's lips as his snarl deepens, mouth opening, and Starscream returns it with a higher pitched one.

Movement at the corner of his eye makes Spike whirl to see Ratchet slowly approaching the humans and Bluestreak, who is hunched down with a servo on the shoulder the most damaged doorwing is hanging off of.

A new engine roar forces him to turn to the standoff, only to see the Tactician glaring at the Medic with even more heat than he was the Seeker.

Ratchet's only answer is to lift his servos in an 'I'm unarmed' gesture—

Tiny wisps of lightning streak over the ambulance's palms and dactyls, and Prowl turns to Starscream again.

Without waiting a second more, the Autobot CMO runs to the injured Doorwinger's side, what sounds like a Cybertronian curse escaping through his lips as he takes a cable from his forearm plating and jacks it into Bluestreak's systems before starting with repairs.

The gray mech relaxes minutely, and Spike deduces he's been 'injected' a painkiller, or something of the like.

There's a soft clicking sound from where the SICs are glaring at each other, and the boy looks at them just in time to see Prowl growl again and lift an Energon-covered servo—

With a sound like a shot, Starscream barrels into the Doorwinger, turbines spewing licks of bluish flame, both of them rolling a couple of times before breaking apart, once more standing in crouches with wings spread wide and dactyls curled claw-like.

Prowl is standing almost at the end of the lab, and the Seeker is just in front of a damaged Bluestreak, a horrified Ratchet and two terrified humans.

The Praxian's optics flash with a hiccup of his engine as he realizes their position, doorwings jerking in surprise—

The wall by his side collapses, Frenzy and Rumble rushing out with proud smiles—

"Boss, we have the sche—"

—and stop so suddenly that they fall to the ground in a pile of tangled limbs when they are met with white optics and Energon-stained plating.

There's a high-pitched bleep from somewhere in the battlefield that Spike knows it's Soundwave's, but Prowl is growling and snarling again—

Starscream warbles something just before he falls to his knees, wings low but still spread wide.

The Tactician is completely silent, faceplate emotionless and white optics turning slightly blue.

For an eternity, there's no sound, no movement, nothing.

And then, Prowl's engine rumbles in a warning as he takes a step forward.

Slowly, as the Autobot approaches, the Seeker gets back to his feet and starts to move away from the Medic and his patient in a wide semicircle, never turning away from the Praxian, as neither does the Energon-stained mech.

When he finally gets to the Cassettes' side, they both scramble to their pedes and barrel into the Flier with enough strength to make him stumble, chirping fearfully as they bury their faceplates into white and red plating.

Not looking away from Prowl, the Decepticon SIC pulls them closer to his chest with one arm—

And, wings still low, he engages his turbines to fly over the still frozen mechs, landing next to where the Constructicons are loading their damaged Gestaltmate inside Astrotrain's shuttle mode, the two Cassettes transforming to get inside Soundwave's chest compartment as soon as he's close enough.

Slowly, all Decepticons pull away to get inside the Triple Changer, Megatron, anger boiling hot enough that the very air shimmers around him, also stepping away from Optimus to join his troops.

"This isn't over, Prime." He hisses before the shuttle's bay doors close, only the Seekers and Coneheads staying outside as Astrotrain takes flight, following him as some kind of guard.

Starscream is the last one to get to the air, having to lock his wings before doing so, and using the extra second to give a now calm-looking Prowl an indecipherable look.

"Ratchet." The humans let out startled yelps at the Tactician's calm and emotionless voice, but the Medic keeps working like nothing, Bluestreak leaning against him limply and with his optics black.

"I've put him into stasis. The damage is severe, but I'll be able to repair him once we're back at the _Ark_, and he'll pull a full recovery in a couple orns." The SIC nods minutely, optics still trained on the no longer visible Decepticons, as Optimus and Jazz approach, the rest of Autobots transforming and driving away.

When the unconscious Bluestreak is carefully pulled into Prime's trailer with Ratchet, the Tactician transforms, pink staining the police car as if it was dried mud, while the Porsche takes Chip up, chair and all, and follows their example, his own changes different than usual to adapt to the human in his grip.

When the driver's door opens, Spike climbs inside without a second thought, but doesn't even fake driving by putting his hands on the steering wheel, instead crossing his arms against his chest once the seat-belt is in place.

The passenger's seat is nowhere to be seen, with some kind of stoppers keeping Chip's chair in place while an extra long belt wraps around him.

And then, with Prowl by Prime's side and Jazz on the rear, they move.

"What happened?" The glasses-wearing boy manages to ask softly after a couple of minutes of silent driving.

"Mixmaster made the mistake to shoot Bluestreak." The saboteur answers calmly, though with unusual seriousness in his voice.

"But the 'Cons have shot at him before."

"Not the doorwings."

Silence falls as both humans exchange somber looks.

"Why did Prowl…"

"Bluestreak was a survivor Prowl dug from the debris, and they're both quite close. What you saw back there was a Doorwinger defending their newspark."

"Are you kidding?" Spike whispers, while Chip frowns in confusion.

"Afraid not, my mech. Someone hurt Blue, and Prowler got rid of the danger. He would've offlined all of the Constructicons if Screamer hadn't decided to drop in."

"Why did Starscream do that? And what was all that growling and snarling? And the wings! I thought fliers couldn't move their wings?" Chip asks, gesturing wildly.

"They can. They just don't usually move them because they're really sensitive, and keeping them immobile dampens their sensors." Spike answers instead, receiving a surprised look. "Here." He adds, taking out his notebook and handing it to the other boy.

And then, he turns to stare at Jazz's dashboard once more.

"Why did he do that?" He repeats while the other human is busy reading his notes.

"'Cause no other mech could've reasoned with Prowler back then. He was down to spark-code level."

"That was the Seeker secret language, wasn't it?"

"Yup."

"But Ratchet—"

"Ratch didn't 'speak', Spike. The only thing all Medics have in common is lots of sensors in their servos, so, to prove he was a Medic, he increased the energy flow to them 'till Prowler could sense just how many of them were there, and thus allowed him to get to Blue."

"He let Starscream get to the Cassettes too."

"Yeah, 'cause he surrendered. He proved he wasn't a threat to Blue and Ratch, so they exchanged hostages, in a sense."

"Prowl had claws." Chip speaks seemingly out of nowhere, gaze lost with the notebook open in his lap. "I didn't imagine that, did I?"

"No, you didn't. Both Fliers and Doorwingers have retractable claws."

"How come we didn't know about that?"

"'Cause they're used in hygiene and battle. Skyfire's big enough not to need them, and avoids fighting as much as possible, Bluestreak refuses to use them and Smokescreen doesn't know how to activate them."

"And Prowl?"

"Prowl has good control and aim."

"He's a Balance Finder, isn't he." Spike not-asks, startled at his own words but… Thundercracker's words and all he knows about the three Doorwingers suggest the Tactician is not like the other two.

"That's confidential information." Jazz answers without skipping a beat, and the teenager just turns to stare out the window.

Perhaps it's time he cleared his mind of unanswered questions by trying to ask the mech himself.

* * *

It isn't until the evening that Spike has a chance to talk to his target alone, mostly because Chip told them about the data the Decepticons apparently managed to get thanks to a secondary computer in one of the basement laboratories that the Autobots didn't know about, so there was a meeting, and then there were the obligatory visits to both the wash-racks and the Repair Bay, where there had to be some waiting to be done until Ratchet came out of the operation room, or the Cybertronian equivalent, to shoo the mech away after reassuring him of Bluestreak's health and the fact he would make a full recovery.

When the Repair Bay doors close at his back is when the teenager steps away from the wall, easily noticed by the Autobot.

"Can I help you?"

"I wanted to ask you a couple of questions that you really don't have to answer, but that would be better asked in private." He explains calmly, having had enough time to think his words.

Prowl simply nods before he guides the human to his office, locking the door once they're both inside.

When he's comfortably sitting on the table with the Tactician observing him from his chair, Spike balks.

Is he really ready to ask what he is?

_"You should always ask, even if your questions may not be answered, but at least this way the other party knows you aren't knowledgeable about the subject, which helps identify possible misunderstandings."_

Ironic, that it would be Starscream's words that would help him talk to Prowl.

With a deep breath to calm himself, Spike looks up into cool blue optics.

"Are you a Balance Finder?" He asks, deciding to go with the easiest question first.

"That is confidential information." The Tactician answers emotionlessly, and the boy just nods, having expected the answer, and steels himself for the next question.

_"Bluestreak was a survivor Prowl dug from the debris, and they're both quite close. What you saw back there was a Doorwinger defending their newspark."_

_"It is worse than that. It came to the point Newspark Protoforms weren't available to all castes, so when a viable newspark was created, the carrier had to give it up. The creators never knew what happened to them. Most thought they were transferred to a frame and put to work as soon as they were extracted, treated as if they'd been created through Vector Sigma. But others… others suspected that only those the Senate deemed useful were released to work."_

"What did the Senate take from you?" Blue optics flash white for a second, too quick for Spike to do more than tense, and then silence.

Utter and complete silence.

"Everything." Prowl finally answers, voice the softest of whispers and so pain-filled that the human feels as if he's been stabbed through the heart as the Second in Command turns away, doorwings lowering.

"Why didn't you join the Decepticons then?" He asks without thought, for Ratchet said they had risen against the corrupt government of Cybertron.

"Because they took what I had left."

"Prowl I—I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked, I—"

"No. You can't have information without questions. Besides, you are not at fault for what happened at the beginnings of the war, so apologizing for those events is illogical." The mech answers, voice calm and faceplate emotionless, but his doorwings aren't as high as before.

"But I can apologize for bringing the memories back."

"Regardless, my possessing them is no fault of yours. What is done is done, an apology won't make me forget." Cruel as he sounds, Spike takes no offense, for he knows that's just Prowl's way of telling him that he really doesn't have to apologize.

It doesn't mean he feels less guilty for bringing that up, but at least he knows better than to try to ask forgiveness again.

"Is there something else?"

"No, I… kinda blurted out the last question I wanted to ask, so that's all. Are you alright?"

"A bit low on fuel." He answers, and recognizing the change of topic for what it is, Spike can only smile.

"I know the cure for that!" He exclaims happily, standing up, and while he doesn't smile, Prowl's doorwings rising to their usual position is almost as good. "Can I come with you?"

"Of course. Perhaps you could help me with something. Jazz mentioned a certain rock concert…"

And as they walk to the Rec Room together, with the human explaining the intricacies of certain acts during a concert, Spike knows the Autobot SIC is just humoring him with his questions, but, taking into account Prowl's seemingly calmer mood, he decides not to call him on it.

Maybe he didn't really get any answers, but at least he's managed to get the workaholic Tactician out of his office, and how many, humans and Cybertronian alike, can claim _that_?

So, Spike finds himself the center of attention once they get to the Rec Room by simply sitting on a table and continuing the conversation, politeness dictating Prowl sit down too instead of retiring to his workplace or room, meaning that every single mech can see him talk about naked humans covered in mud coming together to listen to music while he calmly sips his Energon cube with the same seriousness as always.

The teenager has to force himself not to look too closely at some of the faces to avoid breaking down laughing.

Until, of course, someone decides they've had enough and all Hell breaks loose.

Or, in this case, there's some chirping and 'relaxed' Prowl turns into 'Autobot Second in Command' Prowl in less than it takes Spike to blink.

Feeling uncomfortable as the Doorwinger calmly puts his cube down and clicks something, the human carefully looks around.

Gears and Huffer's scowling faces, and the way every other mech is staring at them is more than enough to know who spoke, but not _what_.

"I said you have a lot of nerve showing your faceplate in here after the thing at the battlefield." The Minibot Hybrid scoffs, and the use of English makes Spike tense in surprise.

"Then allow me to rephrase my question. Why would you say that?" The Datsun answers calmly, cool blue optics turning to the smaller mechs.

"Isn't it clear enough, Decepticon sympathizer?"

The human's jaw drops, head whipping around to stare at Prowl's unimpressed face.

"Huffer." Someone hisses in a warning, but the Minibot just scoffs.

"Oh, right. My bad, I didn't mean to say that. I meant _Seeker_ sympathizer."

The Autobot Second's optics flare paler, doorwings hitching higher and opening a bit, but there's no sound from him.

Spike slowly gets up and moves to the edge of the table, the hair at the back of his neck standing on edge.

"I suggest you drop the topic or ask Ratchet about a scan if you do not realize the reason why you should not pursue that line of code." The Tactician answers, colder than usual, and the teenager feels warm servos carefully pick him up to get him off the table, though he doesn't try to look away to identify his handler.

"Yeah, you're a Doorwinger, that's pretty obvious." Gears hisses, standing up and shrugging off Windcharger's servos when the other tries to stop him, Huffer mimicking him. "_You_ should be the one going to see Ratchet, because you've obviously forgotten it was Seekers who leveled Praxus."

Doorwings snap all the way up and open with a whipping sound, so fast have they moved, and Spike flinches, curling into the servos holding him as he feels himself being held closer to the mech's chest plates.

Praxus. He doesn't know what the word means, but taking into account Doorwingers are often called Praxian, and Gears has said 'leveled'…

Could it be a city? The home of all Doorwingers?

"_Decepticons_ destroyed Praxus. As they did Vos." Prowl answers even more icily than before, though not moving as the Minibots take a step closer, Windcharger moving away from them as the rest of mechs just observe, as frozen in place as Spike seemingly is.

"And _that_ is the proof you're a Decepticon sympathizer. _Vos_." Huffer spits, engine snarling. "The City of Fliers, of Seekers, and you _mourn_ for them, even after all they did?"

"They staid neutral while Cybertron got divided, true to themselves and unwilling to endanger their citizens by claiming a side in the upcoming confrontation."

"They supported the 'Cons!"

"They agreed with the _ideology_. As did Praxus. The Decepticons wished for change, equality, that frame types became secondary to the mechs. Freedom. If wanting that makes me a Decepticon sympathizer, so be it. I am a Decepticon sympathizer. As are all Autobots."

"How dare you!" Gears roars, slamming a fist on the table as he looms over the still sitting mech, Huffer by his side. "The Senate provided for all of Cybertron and saw to our needs. The Decepticons were nothing more than terrorists, power hungry slag-heaps with delusions of grandeur. The Senate gave us everything and they still—"

Prowl stands.

Both Minibots step away, as does Spike's handler and almost the whole of the Rec Room's occupants.

Doorwings are spread high and wide, tilted towards the snarling mechs and vibrating so little that the human can't see the movement, but can hear the soft buzzing and feel some kind of invisible charge make all the hair in his body stand on edge, and cold blue optics are almost white as they look down at the smaller Autobots.

"The protoform was purchased eleven orn before the approval of the Newspark Law, legally despite the high prices. The newspark was successfully transferred ten orn later. 1.64 joor after the Newspark Law was approved, a couple of the Enforcers' Special Operations agents took the newspark away to illegal facilities to be tested and_ assigned_ to a proper _useful_ position. The Carrier met with the Prime and the Senate 0.95 joor after that, just to be dismissed for _irrational behavior_ and told to _calm down_ and let things_ run their course_. 6.32 joor later, the carrier-creation bond broke. Look me in the optics and tell me again how _the Senate gave us everything_."

Silence.

Not even the most minute of twitches, the quietest whirr of gears or the click of metal against metal.

Even his heart seems to have stopped beating.

If he wasn't so shell-shocked, Spike's sure he would be crying.

He knows 'orn' are the Cybertronian equivalent of days, and, even though he has no idea what 'joor' are, he has the feeling they're less than orn when it comes to time.

The Newspark Law forced parents to give their children up to the government, never to know what happened to them.

And judging by Prowl's reaction when the human was told of that, he knows the story he's just explained isn't just a story.

The question is, whose side of it did he live through?

No longer snarling, both Minibot straighten, still staring defiantly into almost white optics.

"The Senate gave us everything and you're glitched if you don't see that."

Spike doesn't see what happens next, because one of the servos holding him forces him down behind the other, pressing him against warm chest plates as the mech quickly moves away, but he can hear the shrieking and crashing, so as soon as he feels his handler stop moving he pushes a dactyl away to poke his head through and _know_.

Prowl is on the ground, clawed pink-stained servos digging gouges into the ground as he strains to move, but Jazz standing on his back, black servos digging into the sensitive doorwings like the twins do the Seekers' wings when they use their Jet Judo, keep him still, for every time he tries to do more than twitch he can see black dactyls press harder or tug the metal plates in painful jerks.

Mirage and Hoist are by Gears and Huffer's side, the Medic patching whatever it is that is leaking so badly in the red mech's gouged out chest to coat his whole torso, frame immobile, while the noble is holding the Hybrid down to avoid him jostling his almost ripped out arm.

With a head-splitting shriek from the saboteur, the berserk Tactician finally stops his enraged engine roars and the litany of clicking and whistling, servos stilling, but frame shaking.

And then, visor white, Jazz looks up to glare at the only online Minibot, not moving an inch in case the Autobot Second decides to try to move again.

His low whirring clicks are obviously threatening, and Huffer trembles with fear warring with pain and anger in his faceplate.

The door opens and, with a whistled curse, Ratchet rushes to Hoist's side.

"What the _Pit_ happened here?!" He roars, not sparing any other mech a look as he takes tools out of seemingly nowhere—subspace, the human realizes detachedly—and gets to work.

"This couple of _glitchs_ decided they wanted a painful deactivation." Jazz snarls, the way he spits the insult making it obvious he can't think of an equivalent bad enough to use.

"I begged him…" All optics, visors and a pair of eyes go to the shivering black and white mech under the Head of Spec Ops' pedes, minus the Medics'. "I was Sentinel's Second, I _begged_ him to give him back to me, I'd done nothing wrong, and the Law hadn't been approved when I transferred him… He was _free_ of the Law, I had a date with the Iacon Repair Center for his examination, I had _all the forms_… And he just told me to _forget_ about him… He was _my newspark_…" Slowly, Jazz lets go of the Tactician and steps off of him, and doorwings fall down to press against their owner, shaking even worse than before as he slowly gets to his knees, dark blue optics clearly unfocused. "I _begged_ him to give me back my creation and he told me to _forget_ about him… I could _feel his pain_—" The usually emotionless voice breaks with static, Energon stained servos clasping white arms as the Autobot SIC hugs himself. "He was _afraid_ and _alone_ and _hurting_ and he kept _calling_ for me, and _I failed him_…"

"Hush, Prowl, it wasn't your fault." Jazz whispers, getting to his knees to pull the distressed Doorwinger closer, visor still pale and focused on the still unconscious Gears, who is no longer bleeding, and the unrepentant Huffer glaring at them, even as he puts his chin on top of the Tactician's helm and starts to rock him softly. "You did all you could do, it's not your fault."

"He _needed_ me and I _wasn't there_…" The Autobot SIC whimpers, pressing closer to the other black and white but not releasing his plate-denting hold on his arms. "He was _mine_ and I _failed_ him…"

"Prowl…"

The chirring that answers the saboteur's whisper is completely different than all the other clicking and whistling sounds the boy has heard before, and he knows the Doorwinger isn't speaking common Cybertronian anymore.

Spike blinks and the world blurs as warm liquid spills down his cheeks.

He hears his name being said as he starts to cry in earnest, silent sobs shaking his body, and feels the grip on himself loosening as his handler moves, walking out of the Rec Room and, when he feels the cold wind ruffling his hair, out of the _Ark_.

"Hey, it's alright kid. Do you want me to get Skyfire? He can get you home faster." When he looks up, he recognizes the blob of red, silver and blue by the voice instead of the image, but he knows there's worry on Cliffjumper's face by how softly he has spoken.

He can just shake his head in a negative instead of giving a verbal answer but, when the Minibot makes to put him down to transform, he grips the red chest plates as best as he's able, whimpering.

"Can you… s-stay like this a b-bit more?"

"Sure thing, kid." The Autobot whispers, moving so that the cold desert air doesn't get to the human anymore, one warm dactyl rubbing the teenager's back soothingly. "Take all the time you need."

And Spike does, crying himself to a dreamless sleep for a broken friend and the child he never had the chance to know.

* * *

**AN:** I'm sorry. I swear I'm sorry, I... I don't know what I was expecting this chapter to turn into, but I swear it wasn't _this_.

Well... at least you know Prowl's 'secret' now.

My apologies if he seems a bit out of character, but he had a bad day, what with dealing with the very real possibility of someone taking away his adopted creation, confronting a Seeker (a _frame type brother_) and having him _understand_ what Blue means to him and thus not harming him further when he had the chance (making it be a Seeker dealing with a Doorwinger instead of a Decepticon dealing with an Autobot, and now add what Prowl said about blaming _Decepticons_ for the destructicon of Praxus instead of _Seekers._ That should tell you more than enough about his opinion on Seekers), Spike's questions digging even more into painful memories than the previous events managed to push back to the forefront of his thought and _then_ the thing with Gears and Huffer. I think he had more than enough reasons to be a bit _twitchy_ and more into the past than he would usually allow himself, but that's just my impression...

Also, to Gears and Huffer's admirers, or those that just simply like them or don't agree with what happened in this chapter, I don't intend to bash them or make them 'the Bad Guys'. I just believe everyone has their opinions, and that working together doesn't mean sharing the same opinions, with some more deeply ingrained than others because of their experiences or what else, and they just turned out to be the ones in this situation that would happen to speak up. I believe Mirage thinks like them, he just wasn't there when things went South. And yes, Cliffjumper, King of Decepticon Haters, _does not agree_ in this instance. He has his reasons (one is called Snarl).

Once more, I'm sorry. I can't say I'm not happy with this chapter because I would be lying, but I can honestly say I hadn't intended for it to turn this way, neither in the first nor the second parts.

**Qwertzu:** Great Spanish! Far better than my German, and it's only been two years since my last lessons, so congratulations. And yes, Skywarp wouldn't be himself if he didn't have some petty revenge under his plating, regardless of him knowing Spike didn't mean to mess with Starscream, if only to remind him that Screamer is _his_ Trinemate and thus _his_ to tease, not a puny human's.

And while it's true, in my headcanon at least, that you don't need to like your Trinemate to be Trine, or any other bondmate to be bonded, for that matter, since bonds are just energy exchanged by the sparks, not some kind of love-connection (yes, pretty cold and impersonal, I know), that doesn't mean you _can't_ like your bondmates. And as you said, they've been together for millions of years, at the least. However, you have to take into account the who and where: a Decepticon in an Autobot cell. Would any self-respecting Decepticon admit to liking their peers in such circumstances?


	15. Matters of the Heart

The Repair Bay is quiet when Spike enters, the day after the… _thing_ in the Rec Room, but that doesn't mean it's silent.

Ratchet's tinkering with some kind scanner at Gears' bedside, the Minibot observing the Medic calmly, while Huffer is sitting on the bed next to them, both of them looking as good as new, though with the new patches an unpainted gray, and filling the room with the soft clinging of armor and almost inaudible whirring of joints.

"Hello, Spike. What brings you here?" The ambulance asks without looking up, and the boy answers with a nervous smile.

"Just… wanted to see how you all are." He answers, not sure what to think.

Huffer and Gears may not be the friendliest of Autobots, but they're certainly not as bad as they could be, more like just annoying with all their grumbling.

But yesterday they were plain tactless and insensitive jerks.

Regardless, the teenager reminds himself that he'd been talking with Prowl before, and that he hadn't noticed any sign that the SIC hadn't left the past in the past.

Yet…

"We're all fine. I'm letting Huffer out once I'm done with a couple of scans, but Gears will have to stay until the end of the orn. About a couple days more." The Medic answers, pulling the scanner away and finally looking up. "Bluestreak is recharging in his room, but he'll be let out about the middle of next week, when I'm sure all sensors are working and everything is properly calibrated."

Silence.

"And Prowl?"

Ratchet's face twists in a scowl, optics paling slightly in genuine anger.

For a moment, Spike almost laughs. Looks like Tactician has sneaked away despite the Medic's protests again—

"He's being sent to the brig as soon as Smokescreen's done with him." The ambulance growls, and the two Minibots nod in agreement.

"What?"

"Do I need to check your audials?"

"No, but—_Prowl_ is being sent to the brig? And _they_ aren't?" The teenager repeats, signaling to the other two mechs with the Medic, who look insulted.

"We just let our opinion be known. Again." Gears scoffs, Huffer nodding in agreement as he grumbles under his breath.

"Prowl attacked a fellow Autobot, so he's being sent to the brig. What's so unbelievable about that?" Ratchet asks, calmer, as he turns the scanner to the Hybrid.

"They were provoking him! Sure, he shouldn't have snapped, but—"

"Provoking?!"

"Stop." The Medic orders, and the Repair Bay stills at the authority he rarely makes use of. "Spike, you've got to stop thinking about Cybertronian as if we were humans. Your species may have individuals with different color schemes, but you're all the same species. Cybertronian are not. Different frame types are not like people with different skin tones."

In the silence that follows, the swishing of a door opening and the steps approaching are far louder than they should, along the annoyed whistled clicking.

"Smokescreen! Language!" The ambulance admonishes, and the Doorwinger stops for a moment, startled, before he sees Spike.

"Oh. You know he can't understand Cybertronian, Ratch."

"But _I_ can. So watch your voice box or I'll offline it."

"Ugh, fine. It's just… Praxians!" He lets out, throwing his hands up before he plops down on an unoccupied bed.

"But—"

"Don't." The gambler hisses, cutting the teenager before he can't get another word out, though he relaxes when he sees his startled expression. "Yes, I'm a Doorwinger, no, I'm not Praxian. I'm from Iacon, a completely different city. You may even say we're different breeds." He explains, a hint of humor in his last words that make the boy turn back to the Medic.

"Ratchet?"

"What?"

"I… don't understand."

"What?"

"… Anything."

After a moment, the Medic puts his scanner down and turns with a hiss of hydraulics that resembles a tired sigh.

"Come here." The boy obeys, and lets himself be pulled on the bed next to Huffer, where he sits down, looking up at the mostly white mech with wide eyes. "When you hear 'Cybertronian', what do you think about?"

"Giant robotic beings from the planet Cybertron that can transform into other things."

"And?"

"I don't know?"

"You think of us as one. One species with different breeds. Like dogs." Slowly, Spike nods, and the Medic crosses his arms against his chest. "Well, we're not. We're one species, yes, but frame types are not different breeds. They're like different species altogether."

"Like… cats and dogs?"

"Some, yes. Others… Most of the frame types are either 'cats' or 'dogs'. Able of living together among themselves and others, with the occasional disagreement, but mostly? They follow the same rules. Don't hurt the humans, obey them. And in this situation, 'civility' is the human."

"I don't…"

"Don't hurt each other, respect private property, everyone's allowed to have their own opinion, that kind of thing." Smokescreen supplies, and, after a moment, the teenager nods.

"So, most Cybertronian live by those rules. However, there are other frame types… If the majority are 'domestic animals' the rest are wild beasts. Some of them can be tamed, like Shuttles. Shuttles would be messenger pigeons. Or parrots. Or even those ostriches people use to ride and play polo. They're wild, but can be tamed. Others can be tamed too, but…"

"If most are dogs, Doorwingers are wolves." The red and blue mech supplies, serious, his own sensory panels held stiffly at his back. "They're _almost_ like dogs, they can be tamed, trained, live with humans and, sometimes, they can spend their whole functions like they were nothing but just more wild-looking dogs. But they're not. They're wild. And they can snap at any time and kill someone. One of the reasons most Doorwingers lived in Praxus is because they were tightly-knit familial units. The other is because they were hard to live with. Especially the native Praxians. Those like me, Vector Sigma created and stationed in another city-state, we are dogs that look like wolves. But Praxians are wolves that behave like dogs. Most of the time."

Dread makes his hands shake, and Spike clenches them together on his lap, unable to look away from the serious blue and red Autobot.

"What does that…"

"It means they can be trusted… to an extent. You need to keep them on a _very short leash_. Prowl broke that leash."

"We all have our own opinions about things, and some are really different or even opposed, but we're all Autobots. We have to be able to work together despite them." Ratchet explains, voice soft. "And we're all sentient and free beings, so we have the right to talk our thoughts out loud. Sometimes that's annoying, yes, but you can't just punch whoever said something just because you don't agree with it. That's why we have a shooting range, and patrol routes, so that someone can work out their anger by filling a target with holes or by driving as long as they need it. When I'm angry, real angry, not just annoyed at this bunch of glitches, I do tool maintenance, or call Ironhide and rant to him until I'm spent."

"I go for long drives. The mountain route works best when I don't want to think, because I need to be aware of my surroundings, but I go through the desert when I'm just frustrated, letting my engine go as hot as it can." Smokescreen supplies, still as serious as before.

"I rant to Gears." Huffer adds, nodding to the red Minibot.

"And I go to the shooting range. And rant to Huffer through the comm." The prone mech answers with a plating shrug.

"Jazz disappears, no one knows where, and doesn't come back until he's worked out his anger or there's an emergency, and in the last situation he vanishes as soon as things are under control again. Optimus holes himself in his office, and it takes Ironhide and me to get him to vent his frustrations on us. Whatever the reason, and no matter the anger, we all know you _don't_ attack another Cybertronian because of a different opinion, you just walk away and deal with it." The Medic adds, and Spike finds himself looking down at his tightly pressed fists on his lap.

"But he lost his _child_. You guys were… were being _cruel_."

"I had a creation." His neck burns at the speed he lifts his head, but the human doesn't even rub it as he stares at Gears. "After the Newspark Law was passed. I just went to the Repair Center when it was time for the transfer and let the Medics call the Enforcers to get him to wherever they did. Because I wanted the best for him, and I knew the Senate would provide."

"But…"

"Yes, the Newspark Law hadn't been passed yet when Prowl's newspark was transferred, but you heard him. He was the Prime's _Second_. He couldn't get distracted by a newspark, least of all back then, when the Energon shortage started becoming a problem. Besides, of course _his_ newspark would have been taken care of. He probably was just put in medical stasis until a time they could get him a work position and a continued supply of Energon."

"Doorwingers create strong bonds, and the carrier-creator bond is the strongest of them all, no matter the frame type, so it's not unexpected he was upset." Smokescreen supplies when the teenager looks like he doesn't know what to make of the Minibot's words. "But that's no excuse for disregarding everything and going spark-coded. Feral, you might say." He explains, shaking his head with a hint of annoyance on his faceplate. "Slagging Praxians always were too much of spark-code mechs, despite having some of the best processors. Excellent Enforcers, yes, but not worth the trouble most of the time. That's why us non-Praxian Doorwingers were preferred to Praxian ones. We're far more reliable and less prone to going spark-code."

"But…"

"You still don't understand, do you." Ratchet's words are not a question, but they aren't annoyed either, more like understanding. "You need to stop thinking of us like humans. Think more like a farm. Different species living together, even the shepherd dog and the sheep. And while you can train a wolf to be like a dog, to act like a dog, there's always the risk that it may attack the sheep instead of herding them. That's why you leave the wolf as the guard dog, and get a _real_ dog to deal with the sheep, and even then you keep the wolf under tight scrutiny. Doorwingers are excellent guard dogs when properly trained, but you can't ever completely trust them."

"You're right. I can't understand it." Spike answers after almost a whole minute, looking at the ground. "I guess there are just some things about Cybertronian that humans just aren't meant to understand."

"It's the Seekers' fault." Huffer lets out, and, startled and confused, the boy looks up. "You know Doorwingers and Seekers share coding, right?" A nod. "Well, it's the Seeker part of a Doorwinger's coding that's the problem. Seekers are warmechs by coding, mechs that guide themselves by spark-code instead of processor-code, and that means aggressive displays. Like the battlefield yesterday, all menacing noises and tackling and clawing."

"That part of a Doorwinger's coding is inactive by default. Most spark-coding usually is, unless when it is really needed. The only lines that are always active are those regulating the energy exchange." Ratchet adds when the teenager's face lights in growing understanding. "However, there are frame type exclusive coding, usually behavioral, that can be activated at will. Cargo sparks can emit certain pulses that allow them to control sparkless minor drones, like Prime's Roller, per example. Doorwingers can't access the Seeker part of their coding in normal circumstances, but they can be _taught_ to do so, and control it. That's what separates Praxian Doorwingers from the rest of the frame type. Praxians have their Seeker coding always active. Which is the reason they keep close to their creations. It takes time to teach a newspark to access and control that coding, and once they do, they rarely leave their familial unit, and even less of those leave Praxus indefinitely."

"So… that's why you say they're like wolves?"

"Yes. Once the Seeker coding is active, it can't be deactivated. Alright, no, that's a lie. It _can_ be deactivated by a spark-specialist, but the Praxian just tends to reactivate it as soon as he can. The only reason Bluestreak hasn't done so is because he was a newspark when Praxus fell, and because he authorized the Medic that treated him to delete and modify what little knowledge he had about that."

Spike's mouth falls open, dumbstruck.

"He told a doctor to mess with his head?"

"So that he wouldn't turn into the same sparkless creatures that had destroyed his city-state and the majority of his frame type? Yes, he did, and quite vehemently. And even then, he still behaves more like a Praxian than he would have liked, because there are some things that not even the best Medics can modify without resulting in the mech's deactivation." Ratchet explains, looking slightly annoyed.

"Jazz said he refuses to use his claws. And that Smokescreen doesn't know how to use them." He whispers, things clicking in place at a dizzying speed.

"Because knowledge of that is from the Seeker part of our coding." The Doorwinger answers with a nod. "But since our systems identify that as a defensive protocol, and Bluestreak had been shoved into a battle situation, he simply can't force his spark to deactivate that feature, not matter how much he wants to have such code deleted. So, he decided to specialize in long-range combat, and he's so good at it that he rarely gets called to the front lines. He has some other leftover coding too, like knowledge of the Seeker communications package, while I just have access to the Flier one, but he refuses to use it. Prowl, on the other servo… he's Praxian through and through, and… well, you heard what he said on the Rec Room. He refuses to believe Seekers could ever become the pure warmechs they are coded to be, even though they've proved their lack of spark over and over again."

"You weren't in the Rec Room." Spike points out, suddenly realizing that tiny detail. "You would have known that Prowl was about to attack them and would have done something if you were, wouldn't you?"

"Yes. And yes again, I wasn't there. But as a psychologist, I needed to know what happened to be able to deal with Prowl, so Red Alert sent me a copy of the security vid."

"What did you talk with Prowl just now?"

Smokescreen's smile is humorless despite the tiny hint of humor in it, and the teenager frowns at it.

"I didn't talk _with_ Prowl. I was sent in to leash him."

Right. Wolf among sheep. The Autobots still need their guard dog.

"Oh."

"He knows he'll spend next orn in the brig, and he'll go there willingly once he's ordered to, but I suggest Gears and Huffer keep their opinion to themselves for at least another orn after he's released, for their own structural integrity." The Doorwinger adds, this time addressing Ratchet and his patients, who scowl but nod in understanding. "I'll let the rest know, and Jazz is already on guard, but it wouldn't hurt if you pounded that into certain processors, wrench and all."

"Like usual. Do you have the twins on damage control too?"

"Yup."

"Damage control?"

"You thought Sideswipe pranked mechs just because he likes to see the reactions?" Smokescreen asks, amused, and Spike has to nod. "Well, he's a prankster at spark, but he would never think about pranking anyone in the middle of a war, nor would he be allowed to. However, it helps distract Prowl and focus his Praxian part on non-damaging things, like sniffing out prank materials, checking blind spots, that kind of thing. His battle computer takes a lot out of him, but he still has more than enough to grow restless and let his Seeker programming come to full battle mode, and that wouldn't help anyone."

"So a Praxian is… kind of a hunter?"

"Got it in one!"

"Why?"

"Because that's what Seekers are. There's a reason the Energon _Seekers_ existed back before the war. Cybertron is not a planet orbiting around a star, and while she has naturally replenishing Energon deposits, the number of Cybertronian was too big for those reservoirs to maintain. The main source of Energon-producing energy was starlight, but, once more, without a star to orbit around, it was rare when we got close enough to one to get planet-sustaining batches. So, Seekers. Some of them staid on the planet as the Defense Force, while those with space capabilities were part of the Energon Seekers. All went through Vos' War Academy to get them to control their coding before they graduated into one of the two corps. The Energon Seekers were sent to close systems to try to find Energon-producing planets, or some whose energy we could use to produce Energon, or even any that could be used to harvest their star's heat and light. They worked together with Space Shuttles to transport them back to Cybertron, and thus we managed to keep everyone energized."

"Wow. So that's why Starscream and Skyfire came to Earth? But I thought Skyfire said they were scientists?"

"It wasn't unusual for some scientist or a team of them to accompany the Shuttles to the planets, both to ascertain the value of the Energon and study the system and planets, and so some, not to say all of the Shuttles, had some kind of scientific knowledge. For one to go through the Science Academy was really rare, but the Senate recognized and supported those with the processor capability for fields out of their frame type's usual ones. A scientist Seeker though? The bet is that Shockwave managed to get to Screamer's processor before anything else. He's an aberrant Seeker, and being the result of some kind of study of a crazy scientist would certainly explain enough." Spike grimaces at Smokescreen's words, feeling his stomach churn.

"Eugh."

"Well, any questions?"

"Why were there only Seekers in the Energon Seekers?" He manages after a bit, once his stomach stops threatening to spill his breakfast and he's managed to pond over all the new information.

"Because that's what they're coded to be. They have the most sensitive sensors of any other frame type, and legend says Onyx, the Prime Seeker, could sense every drop of Energon in a building just by standing at the door. Their battle-coding keeps them safe in asteroid belts and hostile planets, and makes them the perfect warmechs, but that's also why they were kept off planet or away from the normal population, either in Vos or the Defense Force's barracks built in the outskirts of every city-state. That's also the reason more of them survived the destruction of Vos than Praxians did Praxus', because there were less of them in the city-state when the Decepticons bombed it." The human gives a slow nod at that, taking out his notebook almost absentmindedly to write everything down.

By the time he's done, Huffer and Smokescreen are gone, and Gears is reading a datapad while Ratchet fiddles with another, sitting next to the boy on the bed.

"Thundercracker was pretty decent down in the cell."

"Same as a Doorwinger can control his coding, so can Seekers, though they're a lot harder to deal with. If Megatron was anything but a Tread Roller, he probably wouldn't have been able or willing to keep them in the Decepticons, aerial superiority or not. Tread Rollers also have warmech coding, but it's completely different from the Seeker version." The Medic explains, resting his datapad on his lap to look at the human. "Their coding is oriented to defense, which is why they were the Defense Force's ground troops, and despite being active in most of their models, it doesn't cause the trouble the Seeker's does. They are prone to reacting aggressively to a perceived threat instead of talking, but they would rather immobilize a mech instead of trying to rip his spark out." The Minibot snorts at that, not looking away from his lecture, but rubbing a servo absentmindedly over his replaced chest plates, gray until they get a chance to be painted their usual red. "They still need to be watched carefully, but far less than Seekers and Doorwingers. Besides, their varied models filled a lot more roles than any of the other two frame types, and those that had their warmech coding active didn't mingle with the common mechs as much as those that had it inactive did."

"Like Perceptor?"

"Exactly. The war has taught him how to activate it, but his work in the labs helps him keep it dormant almost to the point of it being inactive. It would take a direct threat, like a charged blaster pressed against his plating for it to go active, and even then I believe he would manage to keep it in standby depending on the situation." The ambulance answers, receiving a nod from the boy before he writes it down.

"I'm going to guess and say all this 'spark-coding' thing is like instincts."

"And you'll be right if you called it so."

"Thanks, Ratchet."

"Just doing my job." The Medic answers, turning to his datapad, and Spike looks around as he puts his thoughts in order, his brain swimming with all the new information.

Jazz enters the Repair Bay soon after, giving them a wave of a servo and his best wishes for Gears' quick recovery as he vanishes down a corridor, and when he comes back to the main room again, it's with Prowl at his back.

For the first time since they met, the human realizes just how different the Cybertronian are from each other, listening to the almost silent steps of the Doorwinger and observing his fluid, precise and perfectly calculated movements, a stalking feline next to the Third in Command's happy puppy-like's bouncing steps and cheerful demeanor.

When Prowl nods to him politely he answers in kind, but when the door closes behind the black and white mechs, he looks up to meet Ratchet's attentive blue optics with just two words.

"I understand."

* * *

**AN:** Alright, be sincere, how many of you saw this coming (_this_ being the blame of what happened at the end of last chapter being put on Prowl)?

Very early update 'cause I won't have internet access this weekend and I didn't want to leave you all without the update when I already have the chapter ready, especially since the holidays will keep me away from the computer and thus I don't know when I'll have the chance to update again (most likely not until next year XP).

So, with that said, happy holidays!

**Whovian41110:** Now now, that would be telling ;) I'm planning on revealing it further on, though I still don't know when, so I'm not going to answer to avoid spoilers.

**Qwertzu:** I'm going to say that this chapter won't be of your liking, then, if you really wanted to tear the Minibots to pieces so much XP As for Prowl's newspark, I intend to go back to the topic in future chapters, so I won't reveal anything to spare you the spoilers.


	16. Deep Within

"Hey guys, I've been meaning to ask… What are Cybertronian twins?" Sideswipe ends up spitting the Energon he was drinking, startled at the question, and Spike grimaces softly as he realizes what bad timing it had been for his question. "Sorry."

"Wasn't Ratchet supposed to explain that kind of things?"

"Yes, he did, but… I kind of was reminded I don't really know about that, so… Are you identical or fraternal?"

"Familiar." The red mech answers, swiping the Energon from his chin with the back of his servo. "All twin bonds are familiar, not fraternal."

"Huh, no, that's not what I meant…"

"Then it's obvious you didn't explain yourself well." Sunstreaker scoffs, carefully leaving his own drink on the table so as not to end like the other mech.

"I meant identical twins and fraternal twins."

Silence.

A quick exchange of wary looks, and then both frontliners lean forward.

"That's a human thing, isn't it?"

"Huh?"

"We don't have 'types' of twins."

"You don't? But…"

"But?"

"You don't look alike."

Another exchange of looks, this time bewildered, before Sunstreaker leans back suspiciously, as if wary of Spike exploding or something, while his brother leans forward, arms on the table to rest his helm on it.

"All humans look alike, but I guess it makes sense you would be able to know when some are more similar than others." The red mech muses almost absentmindedly before focusing on the teenager. "Twin is a label given to a Cybertronian that was created along another. You know how creation goes, don't you?"

"Huh… Yeah. Sparks have extra coding that when it's put together with energy creates a new spark." The boy explains, remembering that first incident with Laserbeak's mistaken 'parents' seemingly so long ago, and Ratchet's explanation when they finally got to the Repair Bay. "The carrier spark analyzes the newspark, and if it has all essential coding it's left to grow and then put in its frame."

"Exactly!" Sideswipe exclaims, beaming, and the human straightens at the praise. "Well, twins happen after the confirmation, about the fifth orn of the maturation. You see, while all sparks need to have the essential coding to be viable, there's no set level of energy, so, sometimes, a newspark has too much."

"Newsparks don't have a minimum or maximum level of energy, but, since they're not in their own frame, but in the Carrier's, they can't deal with too high levels." Sunstreaker adds when Spike starts to frown, and using the chance his intervention has given him, the boy takes out his notebook to add the new information to his ever-growing list.

"Precisely. So, in order to deal with the high levels, the newspark splits in two." The red twin continues once the boy has finished writing what he's been told. "However, while the energy is divided equally, the coding is not. So, most times, the splitting means both newsparks end missing essential coding, and thus reabsorbed, or at least one of them does. It's really rare that both twins are viable."

"Which is why Wheeljack was so happy." The teenager muses out loud, receiving two nods.

"Ratchet almost blew a gasket when we found out, but Wheeljack really wanted the newsparks." Sideswipe snickers, Sunstreaker smirking at the memory.

"So, about the differences…"

"Between?"

"You two. I mean, Frenzy and Rumble are supposed to be twins too, aren't they? And they're far more alike than you two are."

The frontliners grimace.

"Sheesh, compare us to the 'Cons. That's cruel, kid." The golden mech mumbles, but the red one waves a servo dismissively.

"That has nothing to do with anything. You know the non-essential coding doesn't have to be the same as the essential, don't you?" A nod, and Sideswipe straightens with a knowing smirk. "Well, there you have it! By the time the newspark splits, the coding has already begun replicating, so sometimes enough copies are split between the twins that they look alike, and other times they don't."

"Can they be from different frame types?"

"One in a million. Though sometimes they're different Hybrids."

"Awesome." He whispers, trying to imagine how that would be. "Are there any more twins other than you two and Grimlock and Slag?"

"Not here."

"And on Cybertron?"

Silence, and both frontliners straighten with serious looks.

"We got a shift to get to."

"As for your question… we're at war, Spike. Twins were rare enough before it began."

And the Rec Room's doors close behind them.

* * *

"Lesson: Failed."

"What lesson?" He drawls, resting an elbow on the dactyl around his torso so that he can put his cheek on his fist to accentuate his bored look. "You caught me."

"Lesson: Avoid capture."

Spike gives Soundwave a deadpanned look, but the Communications Officer doesn't bother giving the human in his servo a glance.

They were fortunate they intercepted the Decepticons as soon as they moved to put whatever weapon part they managed to steal last time in use, but, as usual, in the heat of the battle, no one noticed a tiny human getting 'stolen'.

Usually, the teenager would be infuriated, shouting and trying to squirm out of his hold, but… It's _Soundwave_.

He shouldn't, but he feels as safe with him as he does the twins, or Gears and Huffer. Watch out for pranks or annoying behavior, but with the knowledge no harm will come to him.

Weird, but nice. A weird kind of nice, but nice nevertheless.

"Really."

"New lesson: Escape."

"You're going to teach me how to get away from you?"

"Negative. Best lessons: Learnt by oneself."

And the boy groans, not bothering to move when he's finally put on the ground at the back of the cave—though he does a double-take when the Cassette Carrier sits in front of him.

"I guess escaping won't be just a matter of walking out, then." The Communications Officer nods and, after a moment, Spike sits down too. "While I ponder how to best deal with my new task, how about a lesson about something else?" He asks, taking his faithful notebook and pen out, and the red visor pales in interest.

"Agreed. Human: Ask."

"Can you tell me about the Cassette Carrier frame type and its models?"

"Affirmative. Frame type: Grounder, medium size, rarest frame type. Creation: Vector Sigma. Spark-splitting: Impossible. Spark-merge—"

"Wait, wait! What do you mean, spark-splitting is impossible? You said Laserbeak, Buzzsaw and Ratbat were split-sparks!" The teenager cuts, startled and more than a bit lost by the peculiar explanation resulting from Soundwave's manner of speech.

"Affirmative. Spark-splitting creation: Possible. Cassette Carrier spark-splitting creation: Impossible."

Silence.

"I don't understand a thing of what you're saying."

The red visor goes offline as the Decepticon lowers his head with a tired hydraulic hiss that is way too similar to a sigh.

And then, the mech tilts his head to the side, looking over his shoulder and seemingly listening.

Once he's sure of whatever he was trying to ascertain, he turns back to the curious human.

"If you tell anyone about this, I'm going to deactivate you myself." Spike's jaw doesn't land on the ground because it's attached to his head, but it falls as far as it can go at the shock of hearing Soundwave's robotic voice speaking normally. "Are we clear?"

"Yes. Yes, we're clear. I didn't know—"

"Not many do. It was my choice to keep speaking as I do, but only a selected few are aware that it was a decision at all."

"Who knows?"

"That's none of your incumbency." And the human quickly lifts his hands and leans back, letting the topic slide. "Now, do you want to hear about Cassette Carriers or not?"

"Sure!" He exclaims happily, grabbing his notebook again.

"As I was saying, we're Grounders of medium size, and the rarest frame type along Triple Changers."

"Why's that?"

"Because our coding is hard to stabilize. Which—" A raised servo stops the boy's inquiry before it even begins. "—is also the reason us, Cassette Carriers, _can't_ be created by spark-splitting."

"So _that_ is what you were trying to say!" And the red visor pales in amusement, the same subsonic purr he's rarely heard before echoing in his bones. "How does that coding thing work? The stabilizing part?"

"Well, Triple Changers are quite obvious. Due to their ability to adopt two alt modes they need the essential coding not only of the Triple Changer frame type itself, but also some of two different alt modes."

"What happens if they get coding of only one alt mode?"

"They get reabsorbed."

"… I think I get why they're one of the rarest then. How about Cassette Carriers?"

"We have a lot of essential coding and have set energy levels, which is why there have been no cases of twins registered before the war. There's also compatibility problems to take into account."

"What's that?"

Soundwave doesn't even twitch, but the slight darkening of his visor makes him look annoyed.

"The Autobots didn't explain. How useful." This time there's no hydraulic sigh, but the subtle tilting of his helm is more than enough. "Essential coding is always needed for creation, and while non-essential isn't as closely monitored, it's still needed. The number of copies and their nature doesn't have to be the definite one or from the same frame type as the essential, but there are some combinations that can prove damaging for the newspark in the short or long term. To a Cassette Carrier newspark, such compatibility issues can be either cause for re-absorption as they destabilize the maturing spark or result in… _peculiar_ developments."

"What kind of problems? What kind of developments?" He asks, excited, as he bounces a bit on his seat on the floor, completely entranced by the multitude of possibilities suddenly in front of him.

The intricacies of a whole species are being unraveled right in front of him by his supposed enemy.

Kind of ironic that instead of being told the _eeevil_ plan, he's being told how and why their children look as they do.

_… __I'd better stop thinking of it that way._

"Road Runners seem to have the most non-extinguishing compatibility issues of all frame types."

"Er…"

"Non-lethal."

"Oh."

"That means they tend to have issues, social, psychological…"

"Are you calling the twins crazy?"

The sound is not an engine rev, more like the whirring of a tape being rewound, but it's obviously a snort, even if the 'obvious' hint is the pale amused visor.

"Are you saying they aren't?"

"Hey! Do I need to remind you they're my friends?"

"Do I need to remind you they're ground-bound beings that jump off cliffs to land on airborne planes able to fly at mach 2?"

"… When you put it that way…"

"That doesn't mean anything, of course, but that doesn't mean they're _not_ a few chips short of a full motherboard."

"And when it comes to Cassette Carriers?" He asks instead, unwilling to keep staring at Soundwave's smug expression as they talk about his friends.

"The compatible coding of a different frame type in a Cassette Carrier newspark results in an Adaptative."

"I know that word…" He muses softly, lowering his head… and finding his notebook on his lap.

_"Well put. Alright, the Tenth was Quintus, the Cassette Carrier, also known as the Life Giver, for his was the most active spark and the ability to synchronize systems with others to support sparks, processors and frames, as well as uncountable bonds."_

_"Which would be Soundwave and Blaster."_

_"Only Blaster, actually. Both are Cassette Carriers, but only Blaster is the standard model."_

_…_

_"… One out of three. Yay. Starscream's a Seeker, Soundwave is a… what did Blaster say, Convertible?"_

_"Adaptative."_

"That's your model!" He exclaims, the realization making him whip his head up again to catch the Decepticon's nod. "Does that mean you're an Hybrid?"

"Such minor modifications aren't really categorized as such, it depends on the percentage of coding that doesn't belong to the main frame type."

"You're… an Hybrid."

"Technically, I'm not."

"What are you?"

"A Cassette Carrier. _And_ a Decepticon." And Spike shuts his mouth with a snap, realizing he's treading dangerous waters.

"Sorry."

This time, Soundwave does sigh as he offlines his visor and turns slightly away.

"No, don't. You don't know if you don't ask."

"Why… Why do you let me ask?" His voice has grown soft, but the mech turns to him once more, obviously having heard him clearly. "I understand the first time, you wanted to clear the misunderstanding with Laserbeak but… you and Starscream, you've been… nice to me. And I'm with the Autobots."

"You're a newspark."

The world stops for a moment, with the teenager not knowing how to feel.

Newsparks are Cybertronian children, but he's not Cybertronian, and quite obviously at that. And still, two of the most powerful Decepticons are treating him, a human aligned with the enemy faction, like their kid.

Something of his conflict must have slipped to his face or stance, because the Communications Officer sighs again.

"I'm a Cassette Carrier _and_ a Creator. I can't nor want to suppress my carrier-creator protocols, and those include caring for the newsparks. You may not be mine, you may not be even from our species, but you're still an inexperienced individual trying to find his place. I couldn't call myself Cybertronian if I refused a newspark the knowledge he seeks."

"I… Starscream?"

"He has you labeled as a newspark too, but his reasons are his own. However, you should know Seekers are the most protective of carrier-creators. After all, they may have flight protocols, but not the needed experience to use them, and the speeds they can reach…" A plating shrug, and Spike nods, remembering Prowl's reaction in the battlefield and the Rec Room.

"Thank you. For telling me."

"Anytime."

After a moment, the teenager looks down at his notebook, putting together what he knows and what he's missing.

"Is that why you can read minds? Being an Adaptative?" He asks after a moment, looking up at the Decepticon again to see him nod. "But, how? No other frame type can do that, can they? Why can you?"

Red visor darkens as the dark blue mech tenses, and Spike shirks away a bit, unsure if asking that was the right question.

After all, didn't Soundwave refuse to tell him what is it exactly that makes him be as he is?

"Having coding from a different frame type doesn't mean you always have characteristics from them. Sometimes, the way it reacts with the rest of your coding is precisely what makes you different." The Communications Officer finally answers softly, and the boy nods with a thankful smile.

"Can I ask how does that work? The reading minds thing? You can read humans' too, can't you?"

"Information in both our species is stored as energy impulses. I can decipher those impulses, and, if I concentrate enough, I can read those stored in the processor."

"What does that mean?" He asks slowly, trying to make sense of those words, and Soundwave tilts his head.

"Cybertronian and humans have an energy field. It's not too obvious in your species, but… there are organics that can produce electricity, aren't there?" A second, and Spike nods, eyes widening in realization. "Well, those fields are something every Cybertronian can feel and that are used to express emotion, but that I can feel stronger than other mechs and use them to know what they're thinking. However, those memories already made, those that are stored in the processor, have a lower energy level and require a lot more precision and concentration to access and read. It's made far more difficult with humans because of your organic nature, but it's possible."

"You're just that good, aren't you?" He lets out with a half-crooked smirk, but instead of earning a chuckle from the Decepticon, the Cassette Carrier looks away almost… saddened. "Soundwave? That was a compliment. Did I… Did I say something wrong?"

"I knew someone who used to say that." The Communications Officer whispers, and the teenager frowns, slightly worried… until he straightens with a gasp in realization.

"Your… partner? Ravage, Frenzy and Rumble's… huh, parent? The other one?" Deep burgundy visor turns to him, and, for a little eternity, nothing happens.

"Mate-bonded. That's the correct label." The Cassette Carrier whispers with a small nod, and Spike fidgets a bit before putting his notebook away and getting up.

Slowly, and under Soundwave's neutral gaze, he approaches the dark blue mech and rests a hand softly on his leg.

"You miss him, don't you." Another nod and, when he doesn't get stopped, the teenager slowly climbs to sit on the Decepticon's bent knee. "I miss my mom. I know it's not the same situation but… I know Dad misses her too. I was a little kid back then and don't really remember what happened… they kept me in the dark too but… It was a car accident. Nothing expected, nothing no one could've done anything to stop, it just happened but… It felt like it had been my fault. And Dad thought it had been his, I heard him telling that to my grandparents. I… don't really know if you have something like that, but we humans believe there's a better place after death, that we go to Heaven with God, with the one who created us, and live there forever and watch over our loved ones." He smiles softly, looking down at his hands, illuminated a warm red by Soundwave's visor. "Dad used to tell me that the stars were the eyes of those that were no longer with us, that they watched over us and that I could talk to them every night before going to sleep, because they were listening. I now know they aren't, but it was… nice."

"We know what happens after deactivation." Surprised, Spike looks up, meeting the Cassette Carrier's calm gaze. "Our sparks go back to Cybertron's very core, to Primus' spark, to rejoin it and thus keep it always burning. However, a mech isn't just a spark, our whole lives and experiences are in our processors, and those are corrupted when we deactivate. Our loved ones are forever lost when they deactivate."

"But the spark…"

"Is the core of the mech, but without the experiences… it's like a human who has lost their memories. They may resemble who they were, but they're not the ones you knew." The teenager gulps and nods, looking away—and feeling warm metal cradle him. "Your mother is still with you."

"What?!"

"She created you, carried you. Part of her is always in you." Soundwave explains, voice smooth and soothingly low, his other servo reaching up to rest a dactyl comfortingly under his chin and close his open mouth as the surprise washes away. "Just as I know my spark-half is still with me and our creations."

"Spark-half… your significant other? Other half? Soul mate?"

"Why do you have so many names for that?" Reddening at the Cassette Carrier's curiosity, the human fiddles a bit nervously before shrugging dismissively. "Well… It's not something so… _abstract_. It just means that our sparks were just for each other. More like your 'married' concept."

"Huh. That's… nice?"

"More than nice." Soundwave whispers, and Spike knows he's smiling softly, something that makes him relax in his hold and return the unseen smile. "Thank you."

"Me?" He repeats, blinking in surprise, and the amused purring starts again.

"For trying to 'cheer me up'."

"Ah, that… Well, you're teaching me about Cybertronian, so it was the… least I could do?"

"You didn't have to help me with the ghosts."

"… I couldn't leave you like that." He answers that time, turning serious as he looks away. "I… I couldn't. Not after knowing…"

"What did Starscream tell you?"

"That you were reassuring the… the ghosts."

Silence.

Slowly, Spike looks up, and the dim lighting of the visor makes the Decepticon look pained.

"As you said, I couldn't leave them like that. Even if I knew… It was hard enough to know there was nothing I could do the first time. I refused to stand down another time, but… They weren't real anyway."

"But you tried. That's what matters."

"So it does, Spike Witwicky. And for doing that very same thing, I thank you."

Wide-eyed at the usage of his name, the boy can only nod.

And smile when the dactyl under his chin pulls back, the one cradling him squeezing softly before finally releasing him.

"You're a special human. Most of you never tried to understand us, least of all talk with us Decepticons. Just for that you deserve not getting squished." The teenager snorts, leaning back on his hands.

"You Decepticons aren't as scary as you want yourselves to look like."

"Because that was never our intention." Soundwave's seriousness makes the human tense again, startled, as he listens more attentively.

"You decided to get rid of the corruption. Ratchet told me. How did things turn to… this?"

"By a lot of happenings none of us wanted nor were able to stop."

"Can you tell me?"

The Cassette Carrier nods, but before he can let out even the tiniest sound, he straightens with his visor paling, answering an unheard call that must have come from his comm lines.

"Human: Stay. Outside: Unsafe."

Saying Spike is disappointed is an understatement, but he doesn't fight the servo pulling him back to the ground as the dark blue mech stands up.

"Not even the mouth of the cave?"

"Negative. Safety: Inside."

"Okay. And I won't tell anyone you can talk like everyone else."

This time, he does manage to get Soundwave to snort before the Decepticon gets away.

Once there's no more sound than his breathing and the beating of his heart, the teenager smirks.

"I haven't forgotten about my escaping lesson either."

Stepping as silently as he can, he follows after Soundwave's footsteps, the sounds of battle and shouting reaching him with far more ease as he moves closer to the exit, until the battlefield appears.

Same old, same old.

Now, to find some way to help or an Autobot that can take him a safe distance—

"_Run_!" Soundwave's voice, but where is—

An explosion overhead, pebbles and dust falling down, something hard pressing him down—

When Spike opens his eyes, he finds himself lying on the ground, covered by solid warmth and surrounded by darkness, throat raspy as he coughs again to clear the dirt—

"Hu—_kzz_—an?" He almost jumps out of his skin at the scratchy broken sound, and feels whatever is covering him move a bit so that pale pink light can flicker through the space between dactyls. "Huma—_kzz_?"

"Who…"

"Stay a—_kzz_ from the E—_kzz_—rgon,"

"What?" He exclaims a bit louder, dragging himself to the opening.

"Stay awa—_kzz_—m the Ener—_kzz_."

_Stay away from the Energon._

The Energon dripping out of cracks in dirtied pale metal and pooling around broken glass and reflecting flickering red light.

"Starscream?" He whispers, horrified, and gets a cocky smirk in answer.

"Hold o—_kzz_."

Without time to process that simple request, the servo closes and moves, and Spike's yelp is drowned by a roar of turbines and the cracking of rock against rock—

And the world jerks away so fast that the boy feels weightless for an instant before the light coming through the cracks between dactyls blinds him.

Gravity reappears with the sensation of falling, followed by a jarring thud, before he's unceremoniously dropped to the ground a thankfully short distance.

"Spike!"

But the boy can't turn to Bumblebee, still too shocked by the Decepticon Air Commander swooping in to protect him from a landslide and getting himself slagged in return. It's nothing big, just some slashes and tiny cracks, minus his shattered cockpit, but it still seems too big a price to pay for a measly human.

_"I… Starscream?"_

_"He has you labeled as a newspark too, but his reasons are his own. However, you should know Seekers are the most protective of carrier-creators. After all, they may have flight protocols, but not the needed experience to use them, and the speeds they can reach…"_

"Why?"

"I'm _kzz_—re you c—_kzz_ figure it _kzz_ on your ow—_kzz_." The Seeker answers cockily before taking flight and transforming, stopping just to let Soundwave jump into his broken cockpit before going after the rest of the retiring Decepticons.

As if dealing with giant robotic aliens wasn't weird enough…

* * *

**AN:** I did it! Yay for me!

This chapter owes it to all of you readers, as answer to your questions and as a tiny twist of the plot. Let me know if there's something that wasn't explained as it should, and if you have any questions left. I'm afraid I couldn't answer everything without spoiling future chapters, and I had to keep some things hidden to keep the mystery, but anything that isn't spoiler-y will be answered to the best of my ability ;)

Happy holidays, everybody!

**Whovian41110:** Sure, but I'm afraid it won't be anytime soon.

**Qwertzu:** That they were, but I wanted to show that, from a Cybertronian point of view, they just had bad timing. I wanted to let people know how different I view Cybertronian and humans to be. And really good questions! You have a good eye ;) To avoid spoilers, I'm afraid I can't answer, but be assured, that's an important topic in my headcanon and this fic, so I'll come back to it later.


	17. Child of Hope

"So, let me make sure I've heard right. You say _Starscream_ saved Spike?" Optimus asks, and, this time, Bumblebee can just nod, the human sitting on the table between them looking from one to the other in curiosity. "I… I can't believe it. Are you _sure_ that what you saw was… _that_?"

"Sir, he just swooped down from the sky for no apparent reason, got to Spike just as the cave collapsed, and when he got out he just dropped him and followed after the other Decepticons. He didn't even make it look like he was trying to kidnap him. If that isn't called rescuing, with all due respect, then I don't know what is." The Minibot explains, as exasperated and confused as his leader.

And then, two pairs of blue optics are on the teenager.

Still covered in dirt from the battlefield, the boy can just give them a sheepish smile, not sure what he can tell them.

If Prowl was in the meeting room with them, he could've been able to explain. Or even Jazz, but the saboteur is in the Repair Bay getting his arm reattached after a lucky shot almost blew it out of his shoulder socket.

So, Spike is alone against the Autobot leader's astonishment and the yellow scout's pleading expression.

Until, of course, the door opens and Ironhide, Red Alert, Ratchet, Jazz, Prowl, Wheeljack and Blaster walk in.

Officers Meeting.

Uh oh.

"So, what was that so important we had to discuss?" The Weapons Specialist asks once they've all taken their place around the table, giving the human on it smiles, respectful nods or searching looks, in the Security Officer's case.

"As I'm sure you all know, the Decepticons, Soundwave and Starscream specifically, have developed a… _fondness_ for Spike." Optimus starts, tone firm despite the instant of doubt, and all visual arrays turn to the boy. "Up until now, it had been simple instances of explaining about our culture and biology, however… Bumblebee, please?"

"Yes, Prime. When Soundwave collapsed at the battlefield due to a Ghost's influence, Starscream purposefully took Spike away because he was 'protecting' him from Soundwave's sonic attack. And in our last battle, while Spike managed to escape the Decepticons' clutches, the cave collapsed on him. I knew I wouldn't be able to get to him in time, but Starscream suddenly swooped down to shield him from the rockslide, and, when he dug him out, he simply let Spike go free before flying away."

"Thank you, Bumblebee. You're dismissed." And, with a small smile to the teenager, the Minibot leaves the room.

"He could've wanted to avoid the attention." Wheeljack points out after a moment, and while both Prowl and Jazz nod, the rest don't look so sure.

"Or he could've simply flown away. If we knew he had Spike, we wouldn't have shot. And if we didn't know, we would've lost time trying to find him before we realized he'd been captured." Ironhide adds, scoffing and fiddling with a small gun. "The fragger is fast enough, even when damaged."

"And he could have simply left Spike to deactivate." Red Alert points out, and the mood turns from pensive to dark. "It would have certainly been the expected reaction. One less trouble for them, and a harsh blow for us. Megatron would have approved."

"But, apparently, Starscream wouldn't." Prowl muses out loud, turning his icy gaze to the uneasy human. "Anything you could tell us?"

And the rest of visual arrays fall on the boy.

"Huh… Well, I asked Soundwave why they were being so… Why they kept telling me things and looking after me." Spike starts, slowly, unsure about what to tell them… and settling for the truth. "He said that they did that because they thought of me as a… newspark."

Startled flashes of white all around, and the teenager finds himself blinking splotches of light out of his sight long after the Autobots have recovered from their surprise and started discussing among themselves in Cybertronian.

"Any specific reason, buddy?" Jazz's voice cuts through the clicking and whirring like a gunshot, and, silent as they wait for an answer, every mech turns to Spike once more.

Slightly worried under all the attention, the human finds himself doubting once more, remembering sitting on Soundwave's knee as they talked about their families and their lost ones, as they soothed each other…

And the simple thought of revealing certain details to the Autobots feels uncomfortable for a completely different reason than when he was uncomfortable with the topics.

Now, it feels like he's betraying Soundwave.

However, there are other things he _can_ tell them without feeling bad for it later.

"He said it was his carrier-creator protocols, and that he had no idea why Starscream acted as he did."

Cue the silence and the uneasy looks exchanged between the Cybertronian.

"Soundwave's carrier-creator protocols consider Spike his _newspark_? That-That's a _security risk_!" Red Alert shrieks, throwing his arms up, something that makes the others turn to him but that startles the teenager into jumping out of his skin. "We can't have such a hazardous individual roaming the _Ark_ without extra security!" He adds, slamming his servos on the table as he stands up, and the boy finds himself enveloped by black servos and pulled away from the Security Officer.

A look up reveals Jazz's calming smile and bright blue visor, and the human returns the gesture with enough gratitude to almost melt on his grip.

"Red, mech, calm down before you fry something." Blaster interjects as the Lamborghini starts working himself up into a nervous attack, blabbering about escorts and infrared and who knows what else. "It's not that bad if you think about it."

"Having a Cassette Carrier consider one of his enemies' allies one of his creations isn't _not that bad_?! You know how they get when it comes to their creations! _You are one_! Having Spike here will just be an incentive to storm the _Ark_! Not to begin with whatever Starscream may do too!"

"Red Alert, please, calm down." Optimus orders, voice soft but strict, and, despite his clear tension and almost hysteria, the white and red mech sits down once more. "Yes, this situation may not be ideal, but you have to consider something else."

"What? _What_?! I've considered all safety hazards and improved measures and—"

"You haven't taken into account what _Spike_ wants." Prowl cuts, as calm as always, and, once more, all optics are back on the human. "If Spike doesn't specify he wants nothing to do with the Autobots, Soundwave will respect that. So far, his only concerns have been during battle situations, and that benefits us all. Not only are we assured that Spike will be looked after even in the event of capture, but also during the chaos of fighting."

"But… but…" Slowly, the pitiful whimpers stop, Red Alert bowing his helm. "I… Yes, I guess you're right… But! Sir, permission to upgrade our defenses? _Please_?" He asks, turning to Optimus.

"Very well. It won't do us any wrong, so you have my clearance, Red Alert. Just, please, let us know before-servo." The Autobot leader acquiesces, finally calming down the Security Officer with that allowance. "However, that _does_ change things."

"You kidding, Prime? We have not only a slagging Con thinking our ally is their creation, but _two_." Ironhide growls, the servo around the gun tensing, though the dactyls are kept away from the trigger. "A processor-reading Cassette Carrier and the fastest fragging Seeker in the records."

"Ratchet, any ideas on how this… could be modified?"

"Usually, I'd say they need their sensors checked, because Spike's obviously human, meaning _organic_. That should've been more than enough for them not to make that mistake." The Medic answers with a grumble, glaring at the table under his servos. "However, knowing that it's Soundwave's carrier-creator programming isn't enough to know _what_ triggered it. Though I'd say it's Spike's obvious lack of knowledge about Cybertronian."

"You sure it's not his cuteness and huggability?" The Head of Special Operations snickers, pulling the human close to his faceplates as if he was a puppy or a teddy bear.

"Jazz!" The teenager exclaims, mortified, as he tries to push away the cuddly saboteur, to the amusement of almost everyone else.

"'Huggability' isn't a word." Prowl deadpans, him and Red Alert being the only serious ones, the rest either smiling or obviously trying not to.

"It is now." The Third in Command answers with a big grin, and, squeaking at the movement, Spike finds himself on the Tactician's servos. "Try for yourself, you can't help but make up new words when it comes to such an adorable and huggable squishy. Ain't he like a photovoltaic pussycat?"

"A what?" The teenager exclaims as the rest of officers, minus Prowl and Red Alert, break down laughing or purring in mirth.

"They're a Cybertronian species of wildlife capable of converting starlight into electric pulses that ranged from painful to pleasant. They were a highly-coveted pet." The Second in Command explains calmly, letting the boy back on the table. "Were did you find a photovoltaic pussycat?"

"I have my methods." Jazz answers with a wink, leaning back on his seat.

"Right. Can we get back to the matter at hand?"

"Sure. I still say that 'huggability' should be an accepted word." Even Spike snickers at that, though Prowl's deadpanned glare soon makes the saboteur hold up his servos in defeat. "Alright, alright. I'll send the correct written forms later."

"Now, what were you saying, Ratchet?" Optimus asks, effectively bringing the topic back, but the damage is already done.

Well, the good deed, actually, for all the officers are far more relaxed than before, Ironhide having even put away his gun.

"Regardless of their motives, I have to agree with Prowl in that this situation is actually an asset. Even if they think Spike's a newspark, that doesn't mean they think of him as _their_ creation, so, while they won't hesitate about protecting and teaching him, they'll let him stay with us and make his own decisions without trying to influence him, or not too much, at least. Nevertheless, you keep checking with us to make sure the data they give you isn't skewered, alright?" And the human nods, more than happy to see that things haven't taken a wrong turn.

"Any objections?" Prime asks, and while Red Alert grumbles under his breath, he seems satisfied with the permission to up the _Ark_'s security. "Very well, then. You're dismissed."

Almost as one, the officers stand up, talking among themselves as they leave the room, though the Second and Third in Command stay back with Optimus and the human still on the table.

"Jazz—"

"Consider it done, Prime."

"Prowl?"

"I'll let you know as soon as I have an appropriate strategy."

"Very well. You can both go too."

"Hey, Spike, where to now?" Jazz asks, reaching for him, but a raised hand stops the saboteur before he can catch him.

"Actually, I have a question."

"For us, or for Prime?" Prowl asks, looking as curious as he usually gets.

"All of you, if you don't mind." And, nodding, the two black and white sit down again while the boy repositions himself to be sitting in the middle, so that he can see all three mechs at the same time.

_"You Decepticons aren't as scary as you want yourselves to look like."_

_"Because that was never our intention."_

_"You decided to get rid of the corruption. Ratchet told me. How did things turn to… this?"_

_"By a lot of happenings none of us wanted nor were able to stop."_

"Why are you at war with the Decepticons?"

Shocked silence, with Optimus tensing in his seat, Prowl's doorwings jerking up and Jazz's visor darkening.

In his head, Spike curses himself and his curiosity, all the while trying not to curl into himself, not to give into the uneasiness.

"What did they tell you?" Prime asks, voice rumbling as usual, but more like brewing thunder than a comforting purr.

"You guys told me the government of Cybertron was corrupt, and that the Decepticons rose against it, but… I asked Soundwave why did it turn into a war, and he said because of a lot of things they didn't want but couldn't control. That means they don't want a war, right? That they don't want to keep fighting, doesn't it?" The three Autobots look down, almost in unison.

"Yeah, that's what it means." Jazz answers in a whisper, attracting the teenager's despairing look. "But thing is, we _can't_ stop fighting. Neither faction can. Because while no one wants war, not at spark, none of us wants what will come in its absence."

"What does that mean?"

"That while we agree in war, we don't agree in peace." Prowl supplies softly, doorwings still held stiffly though slightly lower than usual. "The war must stop, but we can't agree on the peace that will come. Autobot and Decepticon ideology don't mix, and no one wants to bend to the other. So, as long as we don't choose a peace we can all agree with, the only alternative is war, and to force the other side into submission so that the definition of peace from the winners can be implemented."

"You mean… You mean you guys are fighting because you can't choose to _stop_?" The boy asks, voice rising in disbelief towards the end, and Optimus finally looks up.

"No, Spike, what we mean—"

"I know what you mean!" He cuts with an angered shout, rising on the table to glare at the three mechs. "So what if both sides don't really agree? Call a ceasefire and meet somewhere to talk about what you want and don't, and the reasons, and _work things out_! How can you think killing each other may be better?! Ratchet said not all Autobots think the same, but you don't go around hurting each other because of a different opinion! That's why Prowl was sent to the brig!" And the Praxian twitches, his equivalent of a flinch, but Spike doesn't look away from glaring into Prime's optics. "Isn't it the same with the Decepticons? They have different opinions, so _what_?! Talk with them! Get to know them, see why they do what they do! How can you judge things when you don't really _know_ them?! I have different opinions than yours, does this mean we have to fight because of that? _No_! We talk! That's why you're explaining things to me, so that I may understand, so that we can _all_ understand each other and work to some kind of truce! That's why Soundwave and Starscream take care of me, because I'm _trying_! You don't want this war? Then _do_ something!"

The only sounds in the room are the human's pants as he tries to regain his breathing.

And, for what may be the first time ever, Spike doesn't hesitate under Optimus' serious gaze, his blue optics not leaving his dark eyes, the boy standing tall and firm.

_"You're a special human. Most of you never tried to understand us, least of all talk with us Decepticons. Just for that you deserve not getting squished."_

He knows he's right.

"We understand, Spike, but things are more complicated than that. You have to take Megatron into account. Even if we decided to call a ceasefire to talk, what would assure us the Decepticons wouldn't take advantage of it and deactivate us all? They have used such tactics before, we can't afford—"

"Before when?"

"What?" Prime asks, startled at being interrupted once more.

"When have they used such tactics before? When have they deactivated people during a ceasefire? What where the conditions? Why?" He questions, still serious and unmovable in his beliefs.

"Before the war started, after the meeting with my predecessor, Sentinel Prime. There wasn't a ceasefire because there were no ongoing confrontations, but once negotiations between Megatron and Sentinel were over, and the Decepticons' petitions were refused, they destroyed Vos and Praxus." And Prowl tenses, doorwings vibrating and optics paling in growing rage. "And then, they infiltrated Iacon and destroyed the Senate, only to position themselves as the new government of Cybertron. The secondary and minor Senators and Emirates gathered a counterforce, and we've been at war ever since."

"And you? When you became Prime, didn't you try to talk to Megatron, to stop things?" Spike asks, softer, feeling despair gnaw at his resolve and strength.

"I did. He tried to deactivate me just after telling me that they would destroy all remnants of the government of Cybertron to start anew. Needless to say, trying such a thing nowadays would be futile. Megatron has grown power hungry, as have all Decepticons, and nothing short of complete and utter defeat will be able to stop them." Optimus explains, as calm and collected as always, but with a hint of darkness and sadness in his optics and voice.

He doesn't want the war any more than Soundwave wants.

But none of them has any choice.

"Are you sure you couldn't…"

A shake of his helm, and the teenager sits down again, defeated and as drained as the three Autobots.

"I wish we could find a way, that we could stop all this fighting and talk to get a solution, but you can't reason with warmechs in good orns, least of all during wartimes." Optimus answers with a tired sigh, before standing up. "If you will excuse me, I have work to tend to. Be careful, Spike. Soundwave and Starscream may look after you, but they could be trying to pull you to their side, and Decepticons only care about conquest now." And, with those last words, the Prime goes away, the door hissing shut after him almost too loudly.

"He's wrong." Startled, and slightly hopeful, the human looks up at Jazz, who has a tiny smile on his faceplate and his visor a calm blue. "You can always reason with warmechs, they're just mechs, after all. You just need to know how, and _that_, unfortunately, is not something many care to learn." He adds, turning to look at Prowl, who gives him an easily visible warm and thankful smile in return. "They don't know what they're missing."

"Most would say 'nothing'."

"Then, 'most' are idiots."

The three of them laugh at that, the mood warming up a bit.

"Yeah, I guess you're right." Spike answers after some seconds of calm, getting back to his feet as the two Cybertronian stand up too. "After all, 'different' doesn't mean 'wrong'." Nods, and the teenager smiles again. "Thanks, guys."

"Anytime, little buddy. Though I'm afraid Prime got it right that reasoning with Cons is almost impossible at the moment." Jazz returns, shrugging a bit, as he helps the boy get to the floor.

"Regardless of how much we wish dialogue could be an option, he's right that having such an option open at all times would be calling for an attack." Prowl adds, clearly saddened, though he recomposes himself before they walk back into the corridor.

"I guess you're right. Doesn't mean I like it." Spike mutters, almost childishly, as he walks between the Second and Third in Command.

"Neither do we, my friend." The saboteur sighs, the gesture a bit exaggerated but the words sincere. "But hey, enough moping. How about a topic change."

"Are you guys going to tell me your frame type and models?"

"No."

"Then I have nothing."

Jazz laughs loudly at that, and while Prowl stays serious, the soft canting of his doorwings accentuate the almost unseen smile on his lips.

There may be a war, and there may be no end to it in sight, but as long as they're all together and there's a chance to laugh, there will be hope for a brighter future.

Spike can only wish that he'd be able to see it.

* * *

**AN:** Took me slagging long enough, but here, have a new chapter. I'm blaming Optimus for the delay. The mech doesn't like to talk about the war. Lucky me, Jazz and Prowl came to the rescue, so thanks guys!

Some more questions answered, and I must say I'm really happy with how this chapter turned out. Side note: Red Alert is a funny mech. I like Red.

**Qwertzu:** Thanks to you for the review! I'm happy you liked that, though, as you can see, not all Cybertronian think Spike registering as a newspark is a good thing XP

**Giddy:** Aw, thank you so much! But, please, there's no need to read all of it at once, the story won't be going anywhere O.o I'm flattered you enjoyed it so much, but I don't want any of my readers missing on sleep just because of it... I'm really happy to know you enjoy my writing (it can get messy at times :P), and character interactions are always a thing I worry about, so thanks a lot for letting me know your opinion about them. And how couldn't I share it with you all? I am, after all, another of those 'people who can't get enough of Transformers' XP


	18. Ending Note

Alright, people, first of all, this is **not** a chapter, it's a note.

In fact, it's here to tell you all that there will be **no more chapters**, the story is now marked as complete.

**HOWEVER**, that doesn't mean the story is finished, I still have some more ideas for this 'verse to consider it done, but I had... not lost interest, but motivation on it, which is why it's over.

What I mean is that _Cybertronian Culture and Biology 1-0-Y_ was never meant to be a 'real' story, it was meant to be unrelated ficlets that explained my point of view/headcanon on Cybertronian, and how humans would learn about it and viceversa. However, it grew a plot, and it has changed so much from the initial idea that it isn't _Cybertronian Culture and Biology 1-0-Y_ anymore, but something completely different, a story all on its own.

So, now that I've got all the major points of my headcanon (or all that I could) out of the way, I've decided to consider this fic done and start a new one, a 'Part 2' of sorts. Something along the lines: "Now that the theory is learnt, is time for the practice", or something of the like.

Meaning, it'll focus more on the plot than in trying to explain the differences between humans and Cybertronian (though there will be some of those too).

Now that this is out of the way, I don't know when I'll get the first chapter ready, or what will be the story's title/description/anything, so I'm afraid I can't say, but there _will_ be a story.

Thanks to all of you for sticking along so long, and I hope I'll get to read from you again. Enjoy!

Now... review time:

**Qwertzu:** Yup, you made a correct educated guess. I have to say I hadn't realized the correlation between gender and point of view of the world, so that was an interesting tidbit. However, my reasoning for Spike's standing in the war (that may have been influenced by my gender, perhaps) is that he now has friends (or something similar) on both sides, and, to him, it's like watching two toddlers arguing for a candy when they have a whole jar next to them, or something as silly, especially after knowing none of them really want the war. I hope I'd get to tackle that more thoroughly in the next part.

Thanks for all your reviews!

**Giddy:** You're welcome (and now I feel like I have to apologize, because... well, you read the note). Jazz is literally uncontrollable. I swear this was supposed to be a serious chapter, but nooo, Jazz couldn't let it be... And Prowl, of course, had to go along/have his say too. Darn those two...

Yes, Red Alert doesn't get enough love, even though he's a really interesting character, especially when one tries to delve into his fritzy (is that a word?) processor. I'm glad I got him right here!

You do? O.o Wow... Congrats, I heard they're really rare XP Maybe that's where Jazz saw one? ((Side note: My furball cat's huggability isn't in question either XP))

They rebound surprisingly well for beings made of metal, I'll admit that. I hope I'd get to continue doing that in the next story. Thanks a lot for your encouragement!


End file.
